


The Proper Form of Address

by earlgreytea68



Series: Jadenvale and Euphonia [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6704398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archer, Only Prince of Jadenvale, was promised as a baby to Ava, Princess of Euphonia.</p><p>Too bad Archer's gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proper Form of Address

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of weeks ago I started thinking about this story and it was one of those things that gradually starts to eat your brain and then last weekend I basically sat and wrote this whole thing. I am not entirely sure what to make of it. I'm pretty sure the basic premise came from a Tumblr prompt I read somewhere, and I was almost going to do this as an AU, but although Archer has a lot of Arthur in him (and also a dash of Sherlock), his love interest was more of his own person in my head, so I decided to do it original. And then I was going to set it in our world, just in fictional countries, but then as the story wove on it became more of a fantastical setting, so I just went with it. There's not a ton of world-building--as you can see, it's a pretty quick and dirty draft--and once I finished it I was like, "Hmm, what should I *do* with this?" And truthfully I didn't know. I still don't know. I might end up fixing it up in some way and doing something somewhat more official with it and so I might end up taking it down from here eventually. 
> 
> In the meantime, in case you're at loose ends and feel like reading a random quasi-fantasy story about a prince falling in love with a king, here's your story. 
> 
> (Oh, and it also has a playlist: http://earlgreytea68.tumblr.com/post/143644966106/archer-by-earlgreytea68 That is only 40 minutes long and I spent so many hours writing this story over the past few days that I have now heard these songs approximately 38292808 times)

Prologue

 

There were two kingdoms.

 

The kingdom of Euphonia clung to precarious peaks, high enough in the sky that the people of the kingdom claimed to be closer to the sun than to the other countries with which they shared the planet. And there seemed to be truth to that statement, in the clarity of the sunlight which poured out of pristine blue skies and bounced off of the snowbanks with which Euphonia was constantly ringleted. Euphonia was a land of enduring chill in both weather and population, according to those outside of Euphonia. Euphonians themselves were a hearty lot, free of frills, as befitted a people who had grown in a kingdom where the land made them work quintuply hard for every bounty it set forth, where small pleasures cost such dear prices. But they considered themselves warm-hearted and generous, if impatient of the outward veneer by which so many judged such things.

 

The kingdom of Jadenvale was positioned such that the mountain peaks of Euphonia were hazy on the distant horizon, and seemed always to be wreathed in storm clouds. There was a saying in Jadenvale, that only those who hated joy took themselves to Euphonia. Jadenvale considered itself blessed in every respect. It sprawled across a rocky seashore that met a sparkling blue bay, and past the cheerful pastel shops of the healthy tourist trade drawn by the beaches that Jadenvale had carved out for itself were rolling hills of the best farmland for miles around. Jadenvalians could not count their blessings, they were too numerous to name. The only thing they might complaint about was the oppressive stickiness of the heat inland, which was why so much of the population inhabited the shoreline, houses positioned to catch the sea breeze. It was, perhaps, the heat that made Jadenvalians somewhat lazy in disposition, or maybe the ease with which things came to them, but the country was known for its relaxed and leisurely nature, for the slothful pace with which all things progressed.

 

It was all of these differences between the kingdoms that created the odd, complex, codependent relationship between the two countries. They were separated by a great distance that was not easily traversed, given the general difficulties of reaching Euphonia in general, but the trade between them was nevertheless energetic. There came and time when their respecting ruling monarchs made great strides to formalize favorable trade relations, to make the intimacy of the two nations permanent. The king and queen of Euphonia had a son in line to the throne, Prince David, and the king and queen of Jadenvale had a daughter, Alexandra, and one might have thought it natural to engineer a betrothal. But the royal line of inheritance was passed on to the firstborn, and Jadenvale could not hand away its eventual queen; that would be pairing the two nations too closely. The king and queen of Jadenvale eventually had another princess, Alice, and offered her as Prince David’s betrothed, but the king and queen of Euphonia were hesitant to tie their heir to an arranged marriage. Better, they thought, to leave the arranged marriage to their younger child, their daughter Ava, whose betrothal to the youngest child of the Jadenvale throne, Prince Archer, was announced before Archer had learned how to crawl.

 

It was a hell of a time, Archer thought later, for someone to have made a decision about _the rest of your life_.

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

Archer Maximilian Peter Bishop de Ventro was the third in line to the throne of Jadenvale. But that still didn’t mean he could get a fucking cup of coffee. Actually, that meant it was incredibly _difficult_ for him to get a fucking cup of coffee.

 

“Today, your Highness, we can offer you beans from Calmornia, from Kazen Do, from Shey, from High Waters—”

 

“I don’t care,” groaned Archer, his head pillowed on his hands. 

 

The attendant didn’t even pause. “If you are seeking a recommendation, your Highness, then—”

 

“I _want_ ,” growled Archer, very carefully, “a _fucking_. Cup. Of. Coffee. I do not _care_ where the beans came from, okay?”

 

The attendant said smoothly, “We have exquisite beans from Aislendell that—”

 

“Those,” Archer said, sighing. “Bring me those.”

 

“As you wish,” said the attendant, and scurried out of the room.

 

Archer kept his head in his hands on the dining room table and looked out over the balcony to the Bay of Thaddeus beyond. The windows were open, as they almost always were, and through the window drifted the scent of the jasmine that Alice cultivated in the pots on the balcony. Archer couldn’t remember a time when the balcony hadn’t been covered in jasmine, couldn’t remember a single morning of his life when he hadn’t woken to its scent. He was horrified to realize he was blinking back tears over the scent of jasmine.

 

“How’s your head?” asked Alice, coming into the room.

 

“Go away,” Archer said, and turned his face into his hands to quickly swipe away his tears. He felt like an idiot.

 

Alice didn’t go away. Archer heard her scrape out the chair next to him. He also heard the gentle thunk of a mug on the table. Alice, Archer concluded, had brought him his coffee.

 

“I don’t think that’s what you want,” Alice said softly. “We haven’t much time; I don’t think what you want is for me to leave you _alone_.”

 

Which was really not what Archer had wanted to hear. Archer was twenty-five years old and Archer, damn it, had cried out every tear he had ever been going to cry at the age of five, when his parents had been killed in the rockslide along the Tervasian Hills. Archer had literally not cried since the day he and Alice and Alex had learned of their parents’ deaths, and he was going to start crying _now_? It was ridiculous.

 

Archer said into his hands, “Alex told you.”

 

“Yes. Come on, Archer, have your coffee, you’ll feel better if—”

 

“I am not in need of _coffee_ ,” Archer protested, sitting up suddenly, even though he’d just been frantic for coffee. “Alice, I need you to talk to her.”

 

“Archer—”

 

“Alice, she’ll listen to you, she’s always liked you better—”

 

“That is absolutely not true, Archer.”

 

“Yes, it is!” Archer insisted. “She’s never really liked me—I mean, that’s different from loving me, she loves me just fine, but, you know, she’d kind of indifferent to me and you—”

 

“Archer, that isn’t true. If you think Alex agreed to all of this lightly—”

 

“Oh?” Archer lifted an eyebrow in Alice’s direction. “You don’t think she did?”

 

“I know she didn’t. Archer, she’s been agonizing over the request for weeks.”

 

Archer looked across at his sister. Alice, with the pale gold hair the color of the heavy sun the Jadenvalians enjoyed, with her eyes the color of the deep blue of the bay water. Eyes that looked solemn and serious now. And Archer realized… “Wait, you knew.”

 

“Archer—”

 

“You knew before _I_ knew!”

 

“Alex came to me when she got the request—”

 

“Alex went to _you_? Why wouldn’t Alex come to me?”

 

“Archer—”

 

“It’s _my_ life being _completely_ and _utterly destroyed_ —”

 

“That’s not how it is, Archer—”

 

“Oh, that’s easy for you to say! You’ll stay here, where it’s nice and normal and there’s jasmine and the seashore and temperatures where you can wear regular clothing. Of course you’re fine with this! If I’m the one sent, then you and Alex can stay here secure in the knowledge that you’ve paid your debt to Euphonia and you’ll never have to go there!”

 

“That isn’t how it is, Archer.”

 

“Oh, isn’t it?”

 

“It’s not a debt. It’s a promise. And the promise was about _you_. It was never going to be me who went. The promise was between you and their princess.”

 

“That promise has nothing to do with me!” Archer cried. “I don’t know what made Mother and Father think that they could—”

 

“They thought it because they were your monarchs,” Alex said coldly from behind Archer, where she had apparently entered the room. “Now, stop this at once. The attendants will talk, and I don’t want Euphonia thinking—”

 

“I don’t give a fuck what Euphonia thinks. You think Ava of Euphonia will think I don’t want to marry her? Because I _don’t_ want to marry her, so that would be a good thing for her to think.”

 

“Little Prince,” Alex began on a sigh, as she scraped out the chair on the other side of him.

 

Archer bristled at the term. He had been called it from childhood, and he understood the impulse. There were seven years between Alex and him, seven years they had never managed to bridge between. “I am not little,” he said hotly, between clenched teeth. “You think you can order me around like a child—”

 

“I think I can order you around because you are a prince,” retorted Alex. “Not because you are a child. Because you a prince of Jadenvale. Because you are _the_ prince of Jadenvale.” Alex blew out a breath, and with it her face collapsed into exhaustion. “You are the only one, Archer,” she said gently, her voice much softer than it had been. “Who would you have me send?”

 

“No one,” Archer said desperately. “You don’t have to send anyone. It’s an old-fashioned and ridiculous idea, Alex, and none of the people who made this promise are even _alive_ anymore—”

 

“He asked for you, Archer. King David reached through the proper diplomatic channels and requested fulfillment of the promise. Am I to breach it and start a war?”

 

Archer couldn’t help the fact that he laughed, even though Alex looked deadly serious.

 

Alex’s seriousness made his laughter fade. Archer looked quizzically at Alice for help. She also looked deadly serious. What the hell?

 

“Start a war?” Archer asked. “Who would start a war over _me_?”

 

“You underestimate your value,” Alex said. “You’re an asset. The cleverest royal any line has produced in ages. When you aren’t being idiotic and drinking yourself under the table in a seedy bar. As if you aren’t the most recognizable boy in this entire country.”

 

“Sorry,” Archer said sarcastically. “But I assumed it was up to me to choose how to spend my last night at home. I assume I still at least had that much freedom. I see now that was ridiculous of me. Tell me where the limits lie, your Majesty. Should I ask permission next time I sneeze? Should I call you from Euphonia, or is that outside of your jurisdiction?”

 

Alex looked across at him, and to his surprise she smiled. It was jarring to him, because Alex seldom smiled, and because Archer had only the dimmest of memories of his mother, and when Alex smiled, everything got jumbled up in Archer’s head, women with hair the color of burnished copper, with lips that were rose petals in their freckled complexion. She said, “Archer de Ventro,” and reached out and pushed his hair off his forehead. He knew his hair was a mess; he hadn’t bothered to comb it that morning. He couldn’t be bothered with _anything_. “Who wouldn’t start a war over you?”

 

Archer shook his head. “It’s madness. Are you saying they want my scientific expertise? I’m happy to—”

 

“It’s done, Archer.” Alex stood, so she could tower over him and look down her nose regally. Archer knew all of Alex’s tricks. “It was done before you could walk.”

 

“Before I could talk to lodge all of my many objections,” muttered Archer.

 

“I have had your things packed,” Alex said. “You will be ready for the train by sunset.”

 

“So sayeth Queen Alexandra,” said Archer bitterly.

 

“So asks your sister,” Alex replied. “Who desperately wishes the best for you. Who begs forgiveness for this difficult decision made on your behalf.”

 

“That was the problem, you know,” Archer said.

 

“What was?”

 

“They promised me as my monarchs. But I would have liked to have thought they thought of themselves as my _parents_.”

 

Alex startled him by pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be there to see you off, Prince,” she said, and walked swiftly out of the room.

 

“You might like Euphonia,” Alice said, when the door had closed behind Alex.

 

Archer glared at her. “I’m not going to like Euphonia. It’s a horrible place. Everybody says it’s a horrible place.”

 

“Well.” Alice stood. “Drink your coffee, Arch. And do try to cheer up. After all, you might like Ava.”

 

The door clicked shut behind Alice, and Archer sat alone in a dining room made to fit a hundred easily. He looked at the coffee he hadn’t touched and drew his knees up and rested his throbbing head against them and wondered how to explain to any of them that this wasn’t about Ava or Euphonia, not really. This was about the fact that the only Prince of Jadenvale only liked men.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

There was no fanfare to see him off. The only Prince of Jadenvale was being ushered out of town like a thief in the night.

 

Only it wasn’t night. It was sunset, and Archer stood by the train and looked at the sun setting over the bay for the last time in maybe _his entire life_. The train station was on a bluff. Below him stretched all of Jadenvale Town Proper, his people, their beaches and houses and _lives_. He could hear laughter floating up to him, lazy on the heavy Jadenvale air. The palace was behind him. Home. The only place he had ever lived in twenty-five years. He refused to turn around and look at it. Better to try to remember forever the rest of Jadenvale, he thought.

 

“Lovely evening, Prince, to see you off,” said the conductor cheerfully.

 

“Trix,” Archer said mildly, without looking away from the bay.

 

“Yeah,” said his head of security, stepping forward, and apparently leading the conductor away, because he didn’t bother Archer anymore.

 

“Alex isn’t here?” asked Alice from behind him.

 

“Are you surprise?” asked Archer.

 

“Frankly, yes.”

 

“Well, I’m not,” said Archer, and took a deep breath and turned away from the bay, to face Alice.

 

“Arch…” Alice began, and then trailed off, because what was there to say? She finally shrugged and then smiled at him.

 

Such a well-known and beloved smile. Archer watched her and tried to freeze it into his memory for all time. “Thank you for coming, Alice,” Archer said.

 

“ _Archer_ ,” said Alice, sounding anguished. “Of _course_ I would—” She flung herself against him, arms around his neck, in a violent hug. “I’m going to miss you so much. I’ll come visit you in Euphonia.”

 

Archer squeezed his eyes shut and tried to believe her. “Will you?”

 

“Of course. Of course. And you’ll come back here lots and lots. Promise.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Archer drily. “Would Alex approve?”

 

Alice stepped back, wiping at her eyes. “It’s hard on her, Arch. You’ve got to understand. It isn’t easy, to be the queen, and she’s had to—”

 

Archer was suddenly impatient to be off, to have all of this constant _defense_ of the decision over with. “Yes. I know,” he said curtly, and looked behind Alice to where Trix was hovering in the background, by the doorway of the royal train car. “Are we ready?”

 

Trix nodded.

 

Archer looked back to Alice. “That’s it.” Alice was crying now, her chin trembling, tears streaming artfully down her rosy cheeks, and it made Archer’s heart break, because Alice was sweet and kind and always had a smile for him, in those dark days when he was an orphaned little boy in a palace where everyone saw him as a prince instead of someone who needed cuddling desperately. “Please don’t, Al. I’ll be okay. I’m rather looking forward to the journey at least. I’ve never been beyond Jadenvale before.”

 

“Alex should have let you go places. Alex shouldn’t have—She was scared. We were both scared. You were so precious to us, Arch, after Mom and Dad—”

 

It was something Alice and Alex called them. _Mom and Dad_. Archer had lost them so young, remembered so little of them, that such familiar terms of endearment were out-of-place to him, inappropriate. They made him wince, to remember both how much and how little he had lost. This family, he thought, had never really been his, not ever. He had been promised away. Maybe leaving, he thought was for the best.

 

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “I’ll see it all now.” He gave her another fond hug. “Don’t break too many hearts.”

 

“Unavoidable,” she said, as lightly as she could manage. “I mean, look at me.”

 

“Indeed,” said Archer, and he had to smile at her.

 

“Behave,” she said to him seriously. “Give Ava a chance. We hear she’s lovely. You might like her. You might even lose your armored scientist heart to her, have a little poetry invade your fortress of logic.”

 

Archer didn’t bother to explain to Alice how unlikely that really was. He’d kept it a secret for twenty-five years. It seemed far too late now to suddenly say, _Actually, about that, you’re looking in entirely the wrong corner for the person who will scale my heart_. “If I start sending you letters composed of haikus,” he said, “you’ll know who to blame.” And then he stepped around Alice and walked over to the train.

 

“Archer,” Alice said.

 

He turned back, one foot on the platform, the other on the steps leading into the royal car, to the rest of his life.

 

“She would have so much rather been able to be your sister, all this time, instead of your queen. You know that, right? It’s her biggest regret, that she lost out on that.”

 

Archer gave her a wry smile. “Tell her the only Prince of Jadenvale sends his regards,” he said, and gave Alice a little salute, and then he walked into the train car without looking back.

 

He stood away from the platform-facing windows, so that he couldn’t see Alice again, until the train started moving. And then he went and sat in one of the brocaded armchairs. He wanted to see the bay again but the sun had sunk beyond the water and the bay was lost in the darkness, and the train was soon so surrounded by lush thickets of overgrown vegetation that it was fruitless anyway. He’d had his last glimpse of Jadenvale already; it was going to have to be enough.

 

Trix came in and said, “You want anything?”

 

It was the thing he liked about Trix, her casual lack of formality. It had been a rare concession from Alex, to let him choose his own head of security. He suspected Alex had thought it would make him more agreeable, if he had gotten his way in that small respect. He also suspected that Alex had been sorely disappointed.

 

“Quite a send-off, eh, Trix?” Archer said, and tried to say it heartily, and tried not to feel very sorry for himself. What did it mean, that he could leave the only place he’d ever called home and have one person show up to express regret that she would miss him? What sort of mark had the only Prince of Jadenvale made? Would the kingdom even notice he was gone? Would they approve of how eagerly their Queen had foisted him off to the mountains?

 

“I hear Euphonia has beavers the size of elephants,” said Trix.

 

“Really?” said Archer.

 

“They’re called elephant beavers.”

 

“Inventive name.”

 

“I’m just saying: there might be a lot of scientific discoveries you can make there. Screw people, right? You’d rather have your head in a book anyway.”

 

Archer suddenly hated how effectively he’d apparently lied to everyone he’d ever met, that no one suspected that wasn’t the least bit true. Archer _did_ want people to like him; why did everyone really believe that he didn’t? Did he seem _that_ weird and unusual? Archer _did_ have a heart that longed for a little bit of poetry; why did everyone think it more likely that he hated everyone than that he liked other men?

 

But Archer just said, “Yeah. Speaking of, do you know where they are? Might as well pass the time somehow.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

Archer had Trix bring dinner to his car so he wouldn’t have to deal with any attendants. Not that he was hungry.

 

And then he fell asleep, even though he thought he wouldn’t, but the motion of the train, and the fact that he had barely slept the night before, lulled him. He woke with the dawn, as the sun crept over a terrain he no longer recognized. They had climbed higher in the night. Below them were spread out the green cropfields of Jadenvale, and far below that the bay shimmered, barely discernible from the rest of the larger ocean. Archer lifted his eyes and stared out at the vast expanse of blue, spreading out in an impossible size until Archer thought he must be misunderstanding, that surely that must be sky he was looking at. He knew, abstractly, how big the ocean was, but he had never been forced to truly comprehend it before.

 

Archer swallowed trepidation, refusing to let himself be nervous. He could do this. Just because _home_ was now a tiny place far away and he was adrift in a world whose enormity he’d never fully grasped before didn’t mean he couldn’t do this. He was Archer, only Prince of Jadenvale, and apparently that was worth enough that Euphonia had demanded he be handed over. Apparently. If Alex hadn’t contacted them and begged them to take him off of her hands.

 

Archer stood and left his car, stepping into the next car, which was the dining car. Attendants that had been lounging around instantly snapped to attention and tried to _your Highness_ him to death.

 

“Coffee,” he said. “Can I just get coffee? And I don’t want to pick where the coffee came from, I just want coffee.”

 

“Where it came from?” stammered one of the attendants. “Apologies, your Highness, but is that something to which you are accustomed—”

 

“Coffee,” Archer said. “Just coffee.”

 

The attendants scurried off, whispering amongst each other.

 

Archer sighed and collapsed into a chair and mumbled to himself, “Fuck, I wonder if they just give you cups of coffee when asked in Euphonia.”

 

He was eventually brought a cup of coffee and a vast selection of things to eat for breakfast. Archer didn’t feel like eating but he asked for toast because the attendants looked hopeful and Archer didn’t want to disappoint them.

 

He was just finishing his toast and watching with interest as the terrain grew rockier around the train when the conductor emerged.

 

“Ah, Prince,” he said. “You’re awake. Excellent. We’re almost to The End.”

 

The End. The tiny development of hardy settlers that represented the very last of Jadenvale. Between this last outpost of Jadenvale and Euphonia was an uninhabited, inhospitable land crisscrossed only be caravans of merchants. And a prince, soon.

 

“Thank you,” Archer said. And, because he had been harsh to the conductor the day before, he added graciously, “It’s been a lovely journey. I’ve greatly enjoyed it.”

 

Pleasure colored the conductor’s cheeks. He practically beamed. “And if may be so bold as to say, Prince, we, your loyal subjects, wish you congratulations on your lovely bride.”

 

The coffee roiled unpleasantly in Archer’s stomach, but he managed, “Thanks,” and hoped that when he smiled he didn’t look as if he was going to throw up.

 

When the conductor left, Archer stood and went back to his private car and considered what to wear. This was important, he thought. Many first impressions to make. So he chose one of his best suits and slicked his hair back so that he looked older and more imposing and princely. He was just finishing up when Trix knocked lightly on the door, then stuck her head in.

 

“They said you were up. Ah, you’re back to normal. It’s good to see you again, sir.”

 

Archer quirked an ironic smile. “Nothing like getting back into costume, right?” He settled the thin circlet of silver and gold braid onto the top of his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror, his dark hair and his dark eyes, another way in which he had never felt like one of the royal family of Jadenvale. He touched the dimple in his chin, inherited from his mother, shared with Alice and Alex, the one thing that had bound them together.

 

Then he stepped away from the mirror and turned back to Trix. “When do we reach The End?”

 

“They tell me very shortly, sir.”

 

“What a foreboding name for a place. Who wants to live somewhere called The End? Why not name it, optimistically, The Beginning?”

 

“Possibly don’t mention this to The Endians,” Trix suggested. “I hear they’re a touchy lot.”

 

Archer snorted. “Are we sure they’re not Euphonian?”

 

“It’ll be good practice, sir.”

 

Archer didn’t answer, because the train was slowing, so Archer was peering out the window, trying to see…anything. The truth was, it looked like a tiny smattering of weathered wood structures in the middle of a field of straggly grass and a few white flowers. “So this is The End,” remarked Archer grimly.

 

“It _does_ sound foreboding when you say it, sir,” remarked Trix.

 

“Special talent I have,” said Archer, and stood and shot his cuffs and said, “Let’s go.”

 

He stepped out of the car into _ice_. At least, that was what it felt like to Archer. He’d never experience air so _cold_. It literally took his breath away.

 

The train station was nothing more than a pile of wooden planks and a tiny outpost. About thirty people were crowded onto it, all of them swathed in enormous fur coats, and when he stepped outside, the crowd broke into murmurs.

 

And, from the crowd, a man detached himself and came hurrying up toward Archer.

 

Trix stepped casually between them, gun up.

 

“I’m the town herald,” he explained to her eagerly. “Is that the Prince?”

 

“Town herald?” said Trix.

 

“My job is to announce royal visitors.” He puffed up with pride. “Of course, this is the first one we’ve had in twenty years. I’m very excited to get to show off my talent.” The herald grinned hugely in Archer’s direction.

 

Archer had never been heralded before. He didn’t know what to make of it. But he didn’t want to offend the town, so he said, “By all means.”

 

The herald cleared his throat and shouted loudly, “Hey! Shut up!”

 

No one was really talking, but Archer supposed that he shouldn’t judge what the herald deemed necessary.

 

“This is his Highness, the only Prince of Jadenvale, Archer Maximilian Peter Bishop de Ventro!”

 

The crowd erupted into cheers, and the herald bowed, and Archer thought the cheers must be for him.

 

“Do something showy,” Trix murmured at him.

 

“What?” said Archer blankly, because he was nothing anyone would call showy. But the crowd and the herald all looked expectant so Archer, feeling like an idiot, waved his hand in the ear and made a coin appear, a simple parlor trick he’d perfect while a bored and lonely eight-year-old.

 

The crowd erupted with joy, and then Archer found himself in the middle of an adoring crowd. Trix, trying to keep them away from him, looked absolutely bewildered, and Archer didn’t blame her. Archer had gone into Jadenvale Town Proper often and elicited only bored reactions from the townspeople. He didn’t know what to make of all of this.

 

“I am the town council,” said one man, tucking himself up against Archer’s side, “and, if you would so grace us, we have laid out a feast for you, before you embark.”

 

Archer was still not hungry, but he said, “Oh. Yes. Of course. I would be delighted.”

 

The town council—how was a council composed entirely of one man? Archer didn’t dare question the odd customs of The End—nudged him off the platform, and Archer assumed they were heading toward the biggest of the tiny buildings that Archer now saw were arranged along a meager approximation of a street. Archer was used to streets that gleamed instead of being ruts of dirt, but he assumed it served the same purpose. “By the way,” said the town council, “which caravan will your Highness be traveling with? So that I can inform them of your whereabouts.”

 

“Oh,” said Archer, and turned to find Trix. Right next to him, as usual. He didn’t even have to ask before she nodded and turned to snap her fingers to get one of the attendants to determine the caravan in question.

 

The building Archer was led into was very dim, one long, low-ceilinged room with two roaring fireplaces. Which Archer was grateful for, because his fingers were numb. He immediately wished to be settled by the fire, but instead he found himself detained by any number of subjects who found it necessary to introduce themselves and ask after his sisters and congratulate him on his bride. _How the fuck did the news get here so fast?_ Archer wondered sourly, accepting all of the congratulations and smiling until his cheeks hurt.

 

Finally the town council suggested he have a seat to eat, and luckily provided Archer with a seat right by the fire. Archer held his shoes toward the fire surreptitiously to thaw out his toes.

 

Trix appeared just as someone was filling a bowl with something steamingly hot. Archer had no idea what it was but he was suddenly desperate to put something that hot into his freezing body.

 

“Trix,” Archer said, gulping the concoction. It burned his tongue and mouth and throat and felt _heavenly_. “Go to the caravan and fetch my fur coat for me. And see if they have gloves, too. And maybe those heavy boots the people here are wearing.”

 

“Um,” said Trix.

 

Which was very unlike Trix.

 

Archer stopped shoveling scalding hot whatever into his mouth and looked at her. “What?”

 

“Can we speak somewhere else?” Trix whispered into his ear.

 

The hot food suddenly became a cold ball of dread in his stomach. “Yes,” he said smoothly, and sent a smile to the anxious-looking town council.

 

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

 

“Court business,” Archer said airily. “You know how it is.” He made another coin appear in his hand.

 

The town council oohed at him.

 

“Do they think we govern by sleight of hand?” Archer asked grouchily as he stepped outside with Trix. “And what the fuck, Trix, it’s _freezing_ out here, I was just starting to warm up in there.”

 

“None of the caravans have been engaged to transport you to Euphonia,” Trix blurted out.

 

Archer stared at her. “What?”

 

“They’ve never heard of you.”

 

“They’ve never _heard_ of me?”

 

“They’re Euphonian.” Trix shrugged.

 

“So? I’m the fucking _prince_ of their nearest ally. They’ve never _heard_ of me?”

 

“It’s what they claim.”

 

“This is fucking Euphonian charm, isn’t it?” seethed Archer. “They fucking demand my presence like I am a _schoolboy_ to be ordered around, and then they leave me here in this middle-of-nowhere place without a _coat_?”

 

Some The Endians had stopped on the street to stare at him.

 

Archer didn’t care. “Where are these caravans?”

 

“I don’t think—”

 

“Where the fuck are they, Trix?” Archer demanded.

 

So Trix led him over to the caravans. They were parked on another straggly field, tiny piles of wagons surrounded by enormous shaggy animals with curving horns that snorted at Archer as he stalked past them.

 

“Who’s in charge here?” Archer snapped at the first person they came across.

 

That person, so wrapped in furs that Archer could only see their two dark eyes, blinked at him slowly, looking unimpressed.

 

“Bring me whoever the _fuck_ is in charge here, do you hear me?” Archer said. “Right now, immediately.”

 

“Typical Jadenvalian,” was what came out from behind the furs, muffled, of course.

 

“Actually,” retorted Archer, “it’s typically _Euphonian_ , my behavior right now. We Jadenvalians are renowned for our reasonableness and our even keel. Like the gentle seas that kiss at our shores.”

 

The Euphonian just stared at him.

 

Archer said, “Trix, how much money do we have?”

 

“I’ve already offered to pay them, sir—”

 

“I’ve changed my mind, about the caravan thing. I want to buy two fur coats, and two of those…animals.”

 

The Euphonian looked at where Archer gestured, then looked back at Archer. “The mountain yaks?”

 

“Yes. I want two of them.”

 

“For what?” asked the Euphonian, looking shocked.

 

“I’m marrying your fucking princess,” Archer said.

 

“And you think she wants to be wooed with mountain yaks?” asked the Euphonian, confused.

 

“Trix.” Archer turned back to her. “Get us the fur coats, and get us the mountain yaks.”

 

“And then what?”

 

“Then we are going to fucking Euphonia, just like our darling Queen wanted.”

 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

Archer de Ventro was supposed to be unbearably clever. He’d been told that all of his life. He had no idea what made people say this about him. Because he liked to read? Because he understood the periodic table? He didn’t know, but this was what he had concluded about himself: He was an idiot.

 

“What the fuck,” he said around his chattering teeth. “How can it possibly be getting fucking _colder_? Surely we have reached the limits of the thermometer.”

 

Their mountain yaks were stepping through frozen crusts of snow now. Archer knew it was snow because he’d read about snow in his studies, but he’d never seen it before. He probably would be curious about it, if his brain hadn’t been frozen into stupidity. Archer huffed breath that hung in clouds in front of his face, something that had initially fascinated him and was now growing old. He was sure that his fingers were frozen around the reins of his mountain yak, and he didn’t even want to think about the state of his toes. And there was the fact that Archer had decided he hated mountain yaks. They smelled. And Archer was an excellent rider, but the mountain yaks were thick and lumbering and useless. They plodded along at an impossibly slow pace.

 

“Where the fuck is fucking Euphonia?” Trix replied, and Trix normally never swore in his presence, so Archer knew Trix was feeling the effects of his folly as well.

 

Archer glanced across at her and offered, “I’m sorry.”

 

“For what, sir?”

 

“If I get us killed out here, being an idiot, who hijacked a mountain yak, and insisted on climbing to Euphonia all on his own.”

 

“Well, you know,” said Trix. “It’s got style. You do like to do things with flair.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Archer said. “I’m very dull.”

 

“You have the weirdest idea about yourself, you know,” said Trix.

 

“Is this about how I made a coin appear out of thin air for the The Endians? Because that wasn’t actual magic.”

 

“It’s just in general,” Trix said. “In general, you do unexpected things. Your sister doesn’t know what to make of you. You know that, right? That’s really why she sent you away. She thought you were unhappy in Jadenvale. She thought you were bored. She thought you wanted an adventure.”

 

Archer would have stopped his mountain yak if he had any control over his mountain yak. As it was, he was pleased he didn’t have to direct the mountain yak, because it meant he could gape openly at Trix. “That’s not what she said.”

 

Trix shrugged. “She didn’t know how to articulate it. I already told you: She has no idea what to make of you.”

 

Archer turned this over in her head. “So she sent me to fucking _Euphonia_? She couldn’t have sent me off on a sea voyage around the world? I would have _loved_ that.”

 

“You probably should have talked to her instead of sulking around the palace, then. Sir,” Trix added belatedly.

 

“Oh, shut up,” grumbled Archer, frowning down at the ugly matted brown hair of the mountain yak. Could Trix possibly be right? Had Alex thought he was unhappy?

 

Then again: Archer _had_ been unhappy, for reasons neither of his sisters could possibly have guessed, reasons that had nothing to do with his location.

 

Archer was busy contemplating this so he wasn’t paying much attention when his mountain yak lost his footing on some ice and tumbling over. Archer managed to throw himself clear, directly into a snowbank. Which was cold—which Archer already was—and wet—which Archer hadn’t been and which now made his situation immeasurably worse.

 

“Fuck,” said Archer, sprawled in the snow looking up at the sky. “Fucking mountain yaks. Fucking snow. Fucking Euphonia.”

 

The sky was very, very blue. Archer had never seen a blue like it. It was very, very pale, almost white. He supposed it was because of all the snow all around. He would have to look into this, he thought. Determine the scientific explanation for—

 

“Are you alright?” Trix asked. “Can you get yourself back up? Or have you broken something?”

 

“I’m fine,” Archer said, and picked himself up and looked at his mountain yak, who’d regained its feet and, displaying more energy than Archer had yet seen, trotted several yards away, regarding Archer and snorting.

 

“Forget it,” Trix said. “Let’s share my mountain yak. The beasts are big enough to handle both of us, and we could share body warmth.”

 

“Yes,” said Archer. “Good idea. I’m getting in the front so you can warm up my wet back.”

 

Trix wrinkled her nose at him.

 

Archer said, “I’ll double your wages for the trouble.”

 

“How very generous of you, sir.”

 

“I’m taking it out of the Euphonian treasury.”

 

“I assumed.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

 

Bennet de Grammell was having the most thoroughly ordinary of days. There was a line of advisors out his door waiting to meet with him, and none of them had said anything the least bit interesting. Bennet dispensed with neighborly skirmishes over snow panthers and a shipment of ice that had gone missing and two villages with competing claims to “Prettiest Village on the Sunrise Side of the Mountain.”

 

And then Roger walked in and bowed low, nose brushing at his thigh, and said, “Begging your pardon, Excellence.”

 

The advisor Bennet had been speaking to suppressed a sigh of disgust, but Bennet said, “No pardon necessary, Roger. What is it?”

 

“There is…an unusual man requesting an audience.”

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said the advisor, “but there is a line, Excellence.” The advisor bowed low to apologize for speaking out of turn.

 

Bennet agreed with him, though. “Yes. Add him to the line.”

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said Roger, with another low bow, “but he isn’t in a state to wait.”

 

“Why not?” asked Bennet. “He’s a man, you say, so he isn’t in labor. Is he mortally wounded?”

 

“Pneumonia, Excellence, I would say. And possibly frostbite.”

 

“What?” said Bennet, surprised. “And yet he’s here seeking an audience with his king?”

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence, but he claims you are not his king.”

 

Bennet was startled into laughter. The advisor, after a moment, joined him. “Does he now? Who does he claim I am? Send him off to the hospital, Roger, and be done with it.”

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence, I would be ever so happy to do that, except that his story seemed extraordinary enough to bring to you. He’s quite…determined.”

 

“You say he has pneumonia. He’s no doubt fever-touched. Get him to see a doctor—”

 

“He claims he’s the only Prince of Jadenvale, Excellence. Begging your pardon.”

 

Bennet stared at Roger, who looked extraordinarily uncertain about what he had just said. As uncertain as Bennet abruptly felt. “He claims he’s what?”

 

Roger made a helpless little gesture, bowed low, and said, clearly at a loss for anything else to say, “Begging your pardon, Excellence.”

 

Bennet regarded Roger.

 

Then the advisor said, “As you say, Excellence, begging your pardon, but no doubt he is just—”

 

“Just a second,” Bennet said, and stood, which provoked a flurry of anxious bows on the part of everyone else in the room. “Bring me to the Prince,” he told Roger.

 

Roger nodded and swept out of the room. Bennet followed him, walking at a brisk enough pace to let his dark blue cape fly out behind him in the dramatic gesture he had learned as an anxious twelve-year-old, suddenly and abruptly king.

 

The outer antechamber Roger led him to was crowded with advisors and petitioners, all of them lined evenly up against the walls. In the middle of the room was a man with a diadem of gold-and-silver set into a thicket of damp, curling dark hair. He was wearing a bedraggled fur hanging off one of his shoulders, much too big for him, and no gloves. His hands were red and raw and painful-looking. And he had no boots on, just a pair of silly scuffed shoes that Bennet would barely have worn in his bedroom, never mind _outside_.

 

To the side of this man and a bit behind him was a small, slight woman, also in a much-too-big fur, with spiky purple hair that was drooping on her head. She looked exhausted, but she looked in much better shape than the man, whose color was artificially flushed and whose dark eyes were a glittering bright that Bennet had seen before. Roger was right, it was definitely pneumonia.

 

“Hello,” Bennet said politely, because if the man was mad there was no need to be rude, and if the man really was the Prince, there was _definitely_ no need to be rude.

 

“Are you the King? David?” demanded the man.

 

“I am,” said Bennet. “And you are?”

 

“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” The man stalked toward him and pressed a finger into the center of Bennet’s chest.

 

Bennet had acres of bodyguards and was surrounded by subjects. All of them were too absolutely shocked to do anything other than stare.

 

Bennet looked down at the red finger in the middle of his chest and said, “I’m afraid I must—”

 

“I had to ride a fucking _mountain yak_. And then it threw me off into the snow. What the fuck. I didn’t realize snow was going to be _wet_ , you know. I mean, I know it’s frozen water, but, like, ugh, seriously. I am normally very eloquent. I am very clever. I am the cleverest royal in, you know, a while. My head is just…” The man scrunched up his face, which was eloquence enough.

 

And there was something about all of this that made Bennet think it wasn’t madness. It would have been a thorough sort of madness to show up with a diadem and an attendant. If it was madness, it was the madness of a prince who had apparently traipsed without an escort in a land of cold to which he would have been distressingly unaccustomed.

 

But Bennet said carefully, just to check, “You’re Archer?” For some reason, he thought someone merely _pretending_ to be royal wouldn’t respond to his given name.

 

“ _Prince_ Archer,” the man corrected him swiftly, pointing to the crooked diadem tipped on his head. “I have a title, too. _Only_ Prince.” Archer suddenly started blinking at him madly.

 

Bennet tipped his head at him. “Forgive me, Prince Archer—”

 

“Oh, fuck, no, not for a while,” said Archer, and then pitched forward onto Bennet’s chest.

 

Bennet made an _oof_ noise of surprise, staggering backward as he absorbed Archer’s full weight. His hands went up automatically to catch him, and even through the clothes he was wearing, Bennet could feel the burn of his fever, the dampness of the sweat it was provoking on his skin. “Fuck,” Bennet said out loud, alarmed. What the fuck was the Queen of Jadenvale going to do if her little brother died of pneumonia upon arriving at the court of Euphonia?

 

“Excellence,” said Roger, and other people were rushing toward him.

 

Bennet shoved them unceremoniously away, trying not to jostle Archer too much as he lowered him to the floor. “Stop it,” he snapped. “He’s unconscious. Give him some air.” Bennet leaned over him, pressing the back of his hand against Archer’s forehead. It was scalding against his skin, but at least Archer was still breathing.

 

“Archer,” said the woman who’d been traveling with him, leaning over him desperately. “ _Archer_.” She looked up at him, and she wasn’t crying, but she looked wild-eyed with concern. “He’s sick. He’s really sick. Please, you’ve got to—I should never have—”

 

Bennet had a moment to wonder at the relationship between the two of them before he instinctively soothed her, reaching out a hand to her shoulder. “Shh,” he said kindly. “Calm down. You’re here now.”

 

She nodded, gulping at air, and it was odd, Bennet thought, to be talking to non-subjects for the first time in his entire life. Nobody bowed at him, this woman didn’t even flinch away from his touch.

 

Bennet looked over at Roger, who looked too shocked to do anything. “Get him a doctor,” he barked out. “Right now. The best one you can manage. And send for Doctor DiBrazio at the main palace immediately.”

 

Bennet stood and lifted Archer into his arms. He was slight, but it was still a weight. Bennet adjusted him, his head pillowing against his chest.

 

“Careful with him,” said the purple-haired Jadenvalian, fretting.

 

“This way,” Bennet said to her, and led her to his own bedchamber, settling Archer into his own bed and covering him with blankets.

 

“But he’s hot,” said his companion. “He’s so hot. Can’t you feel him?”

 

“It’s a fever,” Bennet said. “We’ve got to break it.”

 

She was biting nervously at a nail, watching Archer on the bed. “We don’t have sickness like this in Jadenvale. I didn’t know what to do. I knew he was sick but he’s so stubborn and we couldn’t stay put—”

 

“What’s your name?” Bennet asked gently.

 

“Trix,” she said, and then looked at him. “Oh. Fuck. You’re the king,” she realized. “Trix, _sir_.”

 

He smiled. “Don’t worry about that. Listen to me. He has pneumonia. It’s an illness you can get here. Usually from exposure to the elements.”

 

“Fuck,” said Trix, tugging at her purple spikes of hair. “I didn’t know. I would never have let him—He had this spark, wanting to do it ourselves, I thought I’d just let him—I didn’t _know_.”

 

“Of course you didn’t,” Bennet said soothingly. “Listen, we’ll take very good care of your…friend?” he guessed delicately.

 

Trix choked out a laugh. “Boss. I’m the head of his security. I guess I _am_ his security, right now. And look what I’ve done.” She looked back at Archer in the bed, biting her lip.

 

“Did you get him here from The End?”

 

“Well, we got here together.”

 

“Then you’ve both done marvelously well, trust me. Now listen to me. You see these fingers?” Bennet lifted up her hands, where her fingers were still red and stiff.

 

“They’re fine,” Trix said. “His are worse.”

 

“I noticed. We need to take care of these. And your toes as well.”

 

“Can you fix our toes?” Trix asked in amazement, and glanced down at Bennet’s feet. “Are your feet _warm_?”

 

“Yes,” said Bennet. “We’ll get you a proper wardrobe, too.” Bennet leaned over and rang the bell on the mantle.

 

The door was opened immediately by Andie, who had no doubt been standing directly at it, curious as to what madness Bennet had undertaken now. She bobbed a curtsey at him.

 

“Andie, this is Trix,” said Bennet. “Trix is Euphonia’s special guest from Jadenvale. You are to see to her fingers and toes and warm her up and fetch her a proper wardrobe.”

 

Trix turned immediately back to Bennet. “Archer—the Prince—”

 

“Andie will see to you right here in this room, so you won’t have to leave him.”

 

Trix nodded, and Bennet gestured to Andie.

 

“Excellent,” said Andie, bowing her head, and then got to work on Trix.

 

Which provoked a fervent “ _Fuck_ ” out of Trix as feeling rushed back into her fingers.

 

Bennet smiled and stood back over Archer. There was water standing by Bennet’s bed, as there always was, per his instructions, so Bennet dipped his fingers into the pitcher and trailed them over Archer’s forehead, hoping it would be soothing. Archer frowned and moved fitfully away from him, so Bennet supposed it hadn’t helped.

 

“Excellence,” said Roger behind him, and Bennet turned to see him and a woman both bowing low. “This is Doctor Halsey,” said Roger.

 

“Good. Doctor Halsey, this is the only Prince of Jadenvale, a very special guest of Euphonia. He is taken ill, as you can see, and you are to make him as good as new as fast as you can.”

 

“Yes, Excellence,” said Doctor Halsey, bowing low again and then stepping up to the bed and commencing an examination of Archer. Bennet spotted Trix trying to keep track of what the doctor was doing around Andie’s bustling form. “Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said the doctor eventually, turning to him and bowing low. “It’s pneumonia.”

 

“So I deduced,” Bennet said impatiently.

 

“The fever must break, Excellence, begging your pardon. Which is rather up to him, you see. We must keep him warm, sweat it out of him, and provide him with plenty of water.”

 

“Yes,” Bennet said. “Now see to his fingers and toes, would you?”

 

The doctor bowed low again.

 

 

 

Chapter Six

 

Given how little any of them could do, and how devoted Trix was, Bennet felt awkward within his own bedchamber, so he went back to his advisors, even though he could barely focus. He kept thinking of the dazzling fury of the only Prince of Jadenvale, and then the way he had collapsed, and then how burning hot he had been, and, fuck, Bennet may have made the biggest mistake in a lifetime of a mistakes here.

 

Bennet returned to the bedchamber after dinner, to find Trix still sitting by the bed, watching Archer anxiously.

 

“Have you eaten?” Bennet asked.

 

She jumped, startled, then nodded vaguely. “Yes. Someone brought me…something. Did you say her name was Andie? She was nice. Is this your bed? She seemed to imply this was your bed. You needn’t have…but I’ll not have him moved now.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Bennet said, stoking the fire and frowning at the state of it. He recognized that he normally let it die down directly before bedtime but the room had to be kept warm for Archer’s sake. He would have to command the servants.

 

“He’s shaking,” Trix said. “Is he cold? Should there be more blankets?”

 

Bennet came over to the bed and looked down at Archer, who was trembling, his teeth chattering. Bennet felt his forehead again. Still hot. “It’s the fever,” Bennet said. “Has he regained consciousness?”

 

Trix shook his head. “Should he have?”

 

“It’s fine,” Bennet said, as casually as he could manage, and sat on the other side of the bed.

 

“You don’t have to stay,” Trix said.

 

“Would you rather I didn’t?” asked Bennet.

 

Trix hesitated. Then she said, “No. Please stay. You know things I can’t…For instance, is he in pain? We would give sick people protection against pain, in Jadenvale. Do you have such things?”

 

“He isn’t in pain,” Bennet said.

 

“Have you ever had such a fever?”

 

“Once. When I was a boy.” Bennet smiled at the memory. He had been nine, and his mother had spoon-fed him ice cream once he’d been well enough to sit up again. Bennet would have to make sure there was ice cream in the palace. “And you see me here before you today, hale and hearty.”

 

Trix nodded and looked back down at Archer.

 

Bennet hoped she wasn’t thinking about the fact that it was well-known Euphonians were heartier in general, better at fighting off illness due to their frequent exposure to it, than the soft-skinned Jadenvalians were. So he said, hoping to distract her, “Is he ordinarily very headstrong?”

 

She looked at him suspiciously. “He’s brilliant,” she said, staunchly loyal.

 

Which made Bennet smile again. He didn’t know what to make of a man who had embarked alone on strange terrain in some sort of fit of pique, but it spoke well that he had a servant who so clearly adored him. He looked back down at Archer, his flushed face and sweat-dark hair, and said, “That’s what I’ve heard.”

 

“You’re very lucky to have him,” Trix said. “I hope your sister realizes. I hope _you_ realize.”

 

It was a challenge, Bennet realized. He looked over at her and said honestly, “Your Queen told me the same thing.”

 

“Yes,” Trix said. “I assumed she would. _He_ wouldn’t, but I did.”

 

“He wouldn’t what?”

 

Trix shook her head. “Never mind.”

 

Bennet looked back down at Archer, then remembered in surprise. “Where’s his diadem?”

 

“His what?”

 

“His diadem.” Bennet gestured to his head.

 

“Oh, his crown,” said Trix and looked back at Archer’s head and then blinked. “Oh, no! I don’t know! It must have fallen off of him when—”

 

“We’ll find it,” Bennet assured her, and stood and walked over to his bedroom doorway. Andie, who had been knitting by the fire, stood and curtseyed. “The Prince had a diadem. Braided silver and gold. It must have fallen off of him at some point. Make sure someone finds it.”

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said Andie, “but we could just give him a better one—”

 

“It’s from his homeland,” Bennet snapped, “it doubtless has personal value to him.” Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Forgive me.”

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said Andie, and bowed low.

 

Bennet said, “This room needs to be kept warm. Make sure the servants know, throughout the night.”

 

“Yes, Excellence,” said Andie, bowing her head to him. “Should I have a bed made for you elsewhere?”

 

“No.” Bennet shook his head. “I’m going to sit up with him until his fever breaks.” Bennet couldn’t bear the thought of going to bed thinking he might have killed the only Prince of Jadenvale.

 

If Andie was surprised by this pronouncement, she said nothing.

 

Bennet turned and walked back into the bedchamber, surprised to see that Trix was now sound asleep in her chair. He fetched a blanket to cover her with and then resumed his seat on the other side of Archer and watched him shiver through the fever chills.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

Bennet wasn’t sure at what time of the night Archer’s eyes opened. Bennet had been staring at him blearily, willing the fucking fever to break, and then he became aware that Archer’s eyes had opened.

 

Bennet leaned forward with the intention of telling him that Trix was right next to him.

 

“Oh,” Archer said, looking surprised to see him, and then smiled. It was a blinding, dazzling smile and for some odd reason the force of it knocked every thought out of Bennet’s head. Well. Not _every_ thought. He stared at Archer and thought, _Fuck, he’s lovely_. “Hi,” Archer said, as if they were old friends.

 

Delirious, Bennet thought. Archer was delirious. Bennet said, keeping his voice low, “Listen—”

 

Archer took his hand, shocking Bennet into silence, and played with his fingers. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Bennet managed, staring at Archer’s fingers as they danced over his own. He forced his eyes back to Archer’s, wondering if Archer was feeling confused about who he was. It could happen, with a fever. “You’re Archer,” Bennet reminded him carefully. “You’re the Prince—” He cut himself off, because Archer’s face had fallen, like Bennet had said something incredibly disappointing.

 

“Of course,” Archer sighed, and closed his eyes and dropped Bennet’s hand. “Everyone knows who I am. Nobody knows who I am.”

 

He sounded so sad, so forlorn, Bennet’s heart squeezed within his chest. He caught Archer’s hand between his own, trying to ground him, trying to make him less sad, trying to make him smile that astonishing smile again. “Hey,” he murmured. “Archer. Stay with me here, hmm?”

 

“I can’t,” Archer said, and opened his eyes and looked at him and gave him a sweet, sad shadow of his smile. “I can’t. It’s just that I can’t. If I were someone different…or if I were the same…you’re very handsome.” Archer’s eyes dropped closed.

 

Bennet blinked in surprise. “Oh,” he said, sounding strangled. “Thank you?”

 

“You have very pretty eyes,” said Archer drowsily.

 

“Archer,” Bennet said, thrown.

 

“Mmm,” said Archer.

 

“Do you know who I am?”

 

“Impossible,” Archer murmured. “You’re impossible.”

 

Bennet didn’t know what to make of that. And when he finally found his voice to speak again, when he finally said, “Archer,” again, he got no answer.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

Archer woke slowly, feeling weak and faint and trembly and very unlike himself. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so…unwell. He wanted to keep sleeping for a thousand years.

 

But as he lay there in bed with his eyes closed, he became aware of the fact that he could not smell jasmine. Instead, the room smelled musky, and sharp, and…smoky. That wasn’t right. He must have closed his windows. That would be why he felt so unwell. He was being deprived of fresh air. Come to think of it, he couldn’t hear the soft _shush_ -ing of the ocean in the distance. Or—wait—no, he could hear it. Couldn’t he?

 

Confused, Archer opened his eyes. He was looking at a ceiling covered over in a heavy dark blue fabric. Archer swallowed his gasp of surprise, beginning to place things, fuzzy flashbacks of memory, a mountain yak moving underneath him, the numbing pain in his extremities, the racking pain of his cough, Trix spotting the city over a bend, getting to the palace, they had gotten to the palace, he was fairly sure…

 

Archer shifted carefully, taking stock. His whole body felt like an open wound, and, when he looked down, his hands were…tangled in someone’s hair. He’d assumed, somehow, in his confusion, that he still had them caught around mountain yak hair, but instead there was an unknown man next to his bed, slumped over apparently asleep, with his head on the mattress by Archer’s hip. He was facing away from Archer, so all Archer could see was thick, shaggy hair, blacker than the ebony wood in the coronation room at home. And Archer’s fingers were in it.

 

Archer withdrew his fingers and stared at the man. The doctor? He must be the doctor. Archer had been sick…yes…that was why he felt this way, why he couldn’t quite remember… “Um,” said Archer weakly, which was no good at all. He looked helplessly at the man and, not knowing what else to do, tugged at his hair, not quite as hard as he’d intended, given the alarming lack of strength that seemed to be stealing over him. _Water_ , Archer thought, exhausted. He’d kill for some water.

 

The man grunted and rubbed his cheek against Archer’s hip.

 

Archer stilled. Not that he’d been moving. But he held his breath. He would have stopped his heartbeat if he could have.

 

The man said, “Mmm,” and shifted to turn his head so his face was now facing Archer. It was a handsome face, with gently curving lips, and high cheekbones, and thick black eyelashes that matched his hair fanned out against them. The unknown man snuggled up against Archer’s hip again and his lips curved more and then he opened his eyes.

 

Startling eyes. The very, very pale blue of the sky in this odd place. Archer felt the way he had in the snow, sprawled out, the breath shocked out of him, looking into those eyes. And suddenly he knew exactly who this man was, because how could you forget looking into eyes like those?

 

Those eyes widened as they caught sight of Archer and then he tried to sit up so hastily that he ended up crashing entirely to the floor.

 

The commotion brought an entire army of bodyguards into the room, and then Trix leaned over him and said jubilantly, “Oh, you’re better! Isn’t he better? He’s better, isn’t he? Feel him.”

 

Trix was directing this to the King of Euphonia. Like they were old friends.

 

The King of Euphonia had picked himself up. His black hair was sticking up all over his head and his shirt was wrinkled and he had a dark growth of stubble across his chin and he was, in general, the least king-like king Archer had ever seen. Not that Archer had ever seen a king. But he’d _imagined_ them before.

 

“Oh, stop it,” said the King, flapping his hand at something, and Archer realized that the army of bodyguards or servants or whatever they were were all bowing crazily all over the place. What the fuck. Maybe Archer was dreaming.

 

The King set his hand against Archer’s forehead and Archer stared at him in alarm and thought, yes, he definitely had to be dreaming.

 

“He’s better,” the King said, his eyes holding Archer’s, his expression inscrutable.

 

“I knew it!” Trix enthused, and suddenly threw herself onto Archer without warning in a fierce hug. Then she pulled back. “It’s good to see you, sir,” she said, smiling at him.

 

Archer managed to say, “Can I have some water?”

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

The doctor pronounced Archer to be “recovering.” She allowed him to sit up in bed and to have food brought to him. Archer ate like a starving man and was then so exhausted he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

 

“The King came to see how you are,” Trix hissed at him.

 

Archer couldn’t have opened his eyes if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t really want to. “What?” he said stupidly. “What King?”

 

“ _The_ King.”

 

“Oh,” Archer realized, trying to struggle his way out of the thickness of sleep.

 

“It’s quite alright,” said the King’s voice. It was a nice voice, deep, melodious. Archer wanted him to stay and keep talking. “He needs his rest. Let him sleep.”

 

Which sounded like a grand idea to Archer.

 

The next time he woke and had more to eat he felt awake enough to talk to Trix afterward.

 

“You were so sick,” she said, perching on the side of his bed. “It’s some illness they get here. Pneumonia, the King said. He knew just what to do, so it must be common.”

 

“Common?” echoed Archer, adjusting his pillows. “Fuck. What sort of place _is_ this?”

 

“They’ve been nice to me. The King’s been really nice. He barely left your side.”

 

“He also almost got me killed,” Archer pointed out.

 

“To be fair, you almost did that yourself. Sir.”

 

“You’re so impertinent,” Archer said grumpily. “I should fire you.”

 

“At the moment you’re weak as a kitten and can barely keep your eyes open.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still fire you,” mumbled Archer, ignoring the fact that he was more than half-asleep.

 

When he woke again, the King was in the room, although he was in the opposite corner, speaking to someone who kept bowing over and over again dramatically. Archer stared at him and tried to pretend he wasn’t. He looked more king-like now, though, dressed richly and well, with his hair combed, although as Archer watched he kept dragging his hands through it, so it was any wonder it ended up a tangled mess, thought Archer.

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said the person the King was talking to, bowing again, and Archer missed whatever it was he said.

 

“I told you,” snapped the King, “he isn’t to be moved until he’s well and truly better.”

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence—” another bow—“he’s much better.”

 

“Oh, are you a doctor now?” asked the King sarcastically. “I wasn’t aware. Here, just clear out the wardrobe if you’re so worried about it, for fuck’s sake.” The King turned, waving toward what Archer realized must be a wardrobe full of the King’s clothing, and for the first time Archer realized where he was.

 

The King stopped short upon catching sight of him awake. “Archer,” he said, and then, “I mean, Prince—or Eminence—or—”

 

Archer stopped his stammering by saying, “Am I in your bedchamber?”

 

The King glanced at the attendant who had been clearing out his wardrobe. “Give us a moment.”

 

The attendant bowed his head and left the room.

 

“Where’s Trix?” Archer asked, as the King came over to his bed.

 

“She’s having a bath. It’s the first time I’ve been able to convince her to leave your side.” The King smiled faintly. “She’s devoted to you.”

 

“I pay her well,” said Archer.

 

“Money doesn’t ordinarily earn a servant willing to forego bathing for several days.”

 

“She’s just not very clever,” said Archer.

 

The King laughed. He had a deep, rich laugh that matched his voice but also made him look ten years younger. Suddenly he seemed like exactly the sort of man Archer would have watched in a bar in Jadenvale, too miserable to get up his courage to approach him, wishing he could make him laugh like that. And _Archer had_.

 

“How do you feel?” the King asked, looking down at him frankly.

 

Archer felt light-headed in the face of that laugh and those eyes. He said faintly, “Better, I think.”

 

The King smiled at him. “You think?”

 

“I don’t really remember how I felt before,” Archer admitted. “Things are rather a blur.”

 

“Yes. Well. You gave us a scare.” The King folded his arms and leaned against the bedpost. “Although I’ll grant you it was quite the entrance. My advisors have talked of nothing else for days. You’re the most interesting thing to happen here in years.”

 

“I’m really very boring,” Archer told him.

 

“I have seen absolutely no evidence of that,” said the King, still smiling. “I hear from the caravan that came in this morning that you insisted on buying two mountain yaks and two fur coats and setting off on your own across the Graveyard. Can I ask what would ever possess you to do that?”

 

“Well,” said Archer, “for one, I didn’t know it was called the Graveyard. That knowledge might have cause me to reconsider my plan.”

 

The King laughed again, and Archer didn’t know what to make of any of this. He wanted to ask the King to leave because he was so confused; he wanted to keep the King in this room forever. Archer felt hot and cold, wanted to squirm around the bed, wanted to pull the King closer, directly into this bed, directly against him, wanted him to laugh under his ear so Archer could feel it rumble through him. “Why didn’t you just wait for the caravan?” asked the King. “Were you that anxious to see Euphonia?”

 

“The caravan wouldn’t bring me,” Archer said. “They said they were full and had never heard of me.”

 

The King frowned. It transformed his face back into a very king-like face. “Did they?”

 

“Yes. And, you know, what the _fuck_.”

 

The King blinked at him. “What?”

 

“I mean, honestly, you fucking call for me and make my sister stick me on the first fucking train up here and then you leave me abandoned with no way to get here. It’s a violation of sixteen different Jadenvalian hospitality statutes.”

 

“Hospitality statutes?” echoed the King.

 

“Yeah. Given my treatment thus far, I suspected that was an unknown idea here in Euphonia.”

 

The King frowned again, but it was a different sort of frown, Archer could tell immediately. This one was directed _at_ Archer, and it was the kingliest thing the King had done yet. “Your treatment thus far? Really? You’re casting aspersions upon Euphonian hospitality while _lying in the King’s bed_?”

 

Which, okay, that was a good point. “I’m only here because you almost killed me,” grumbled Archer.

 

“It never occurred to me that you would be foolish enough to cross the Graveyard, unprepared, without provisions. I’d been told you were _clever_.”

 

“And I’d been told the Kingdom of Euphonia wanted me desperately and could barely wait a day for me to show up,” retorted Archer. “Do you know where you left me abandoned? A place called _The End_. I mean, for fuck’s sake, would _you_ want to stay in a place called that?”

 

“I know The End,” the King said. “It’s quite lovely there. They have beautiful wildflowers.”

 

“They have what?” Archer marveled at him. “ _Where_?”

 

“I assumed the caravans would bring you. I didn’t alert them to your presence because I’d assumed you wouldn’t want to attract the attention of highwaymen.”

 

“ _Highwaymen_?” Archer echoed. “What the fuck _is_ this place?”

 

“I assure you,” said the King stiffly, “that we’re a very nice place. I am sure you’ll learn to like it here.”

 

Archer snorted. “Yeah, so far I’m very graciously inclined toward this place. Your subjects refused to offer me any assistance and then I almost died from one of your charming Euphonian illnesses.”

 

“I’ve allowed you leeway,” the King said stonily, “but you should remember who you’re—”

 

 

“I know who you are. I’m not terribly inclined to stand on ceremony. And, considering you called me ‘Archer’ a couple of minutes ago, neither are you.”

 

The King narrowed his eyes at him.

 

“And I’m a little amazed,” Archer continued, warming to this now, “that you ordered me here, away from the only home I’ve ever known, to a place completely foreign to me, to marry a woman I’ve never met, and you thought I’d be, what, groveling at your feet?”

 

“You have an interesting characterization of your current situation,” said the King.

 

“Where is she anyway?” Archer asked. “The princess.”

 

“Not here,” said the King. “You’re not at the main palace.”

 

“Why are you here, then?”

 

“Because I travel to the outpost palaces, for governance purposes. Surely your sister does the same.”

 

“Yes,” said Archer, because that made sense.

 

“And I am not the source of your obligation here,” said the King. “That was your—”

 

“My parents, I know.” Archer sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. Was there anybody, he thought, in the entire universe, who didn’t refer to him as an _obligation_? He swallowed thickly and said, “She didn’t want to…I mean, was she…worried for me? Or…?” He didn’t know how to ask if the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with cared if he lived or died. If even _she_ didn’t care.

 

There was a long silence. Archer didn’t dare open his eyes for fear of the pity or loathing or, worse, indifference he might see in the King’s gaze. But, to his surprise, he felt the King sit next to him.

 

“Archer,” said the King softly, and Archer flinched involuntarily, because there was something about _his name_ in _that voice_ , something about the way the King said it, like it was a glorious treasured thing, not a title, not even really a name, but an essence, of _Archer_. “Look at me.”

 

Archer, after a second, obeyed, not because it was a king giving him an order but because it wasn’t.

 

The King’s pale blue eyes were steady on him, and Archer felt dry-mouthed in the face of them, and it was worse when the King said very firmly, “We’re very lucky to have you.”

 

Archer’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

 

“Thank you for coming,” continued the King.

 

Archer made a tiny noise. He didn’t even know what he meant it to convey.

 

The King smiled at him and stood. “Get better,” he said. “Once you’re feeling better, things might seem better. I’ll show you Euphonia. You might change your mind.”

 

Archer wanted to say he was never going to change his mind, except that he wanted the King to smile at him like that forever and probably if he said that the King would stop.

 

“The caravans are returning with the rest of your belongings. I’ll talk to them about their treatment of you,” said the King. “In the meantime, get some rest. I’ll stop in and see you tomorrow, possibly.”

 

 _Yes_ , Archer wanted to say. _Stop in whenever you want_. Which was ridiculous. This was _ridiculous_.

 

He watched the King stride out of the room, except that the King paused in the doorway and looked back at him, Archer feeling pinned at being the object of those eyes again. “Oh, and, Archer,” he said, his lips and tongue curving around the shape of the word as he smiled at him. “If you ever feel inclined to think of yourself as boring again, I shall remind you how you sprawled in a king’s bed while insulting his kingdom.” The King winked at him. _Winked_ at him.

 

Archer sprawled in the king’s bed and pressed a trembling hand to his mouth and said fervently, “Fuck.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

The caravans returned with enormous mahogany chests that filled the antechamber, gleaming as if the exotic heavy sunshine of Jadenvale had been burnished into their wood.

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said one of the caravan managers, bowing low, “but the only Prince seems to be a bit of a clothes horse. Those Jadenvalians, eh?”

 

Bennet frowned. “He’s our Prince now. He isn’t to be mocked for his preferences.”

 

The smile faded off of the caravan manager’s face. “R-right. Yes. Begging your pardon, Excellence.” He bowed even lower to try to make up for it.

 

“Why wouldn’t you grant him passage?” Bennet asked, still frowning.

 

The man did not rise from his low bow. “Begging your pardon, Excellence?”

 

“He says that he requested passage with one of your caravans and was denied.”

 

“Well. Begging your pardon, Excellence.” The man didn’t rise from his bow but snuck a glance up at Bennet. “When an uppity Jadenvalian starts flinging money around, all holier-than-thou, and ordering you to—”

 

“He was a guest of our kingdom,” Bennet said coldly.

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence, we didn’t know he was the Prince—”

 

“Which makes it worse,” Bennet interrupted harshly. “He was someone who wished to see Euphonian, and you insulted him badly. What good does it do Euphonia if our eager and willing visitors have as their first impression such poor treatment?”

 

“Er,” said the manager, clearly at a loss.

 

“Your license is revoked.”

 

The man popped up from his bow, looking flustered. “Excellence! Surely you—”

 

Bennet lifted a finger toward Roger, who lifted a finger toward the guards, who saw the manager escorted out. Then Bennet turned to Roger. “Have these chests delivered to the Prince. I don’t want a single thing out of place.”

 

Roger bowed his head and murmured, “Begging your pardon, Excellence, but to which bedchamber shall I deliver them?”

 

Which gave Bennet pause. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Archer should leave his bedchamber. Obviously Archer was going to stay there.

 

Bennet pushed a hand through his hair and decided not to analyze it when he said, “Mine.” He was the king. Surely he would be unthinkingly obeyed.

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

“Excuse me, King?” said Trix as Bennet was marching down the corridor, his cloak billowing out behind him.

 

Bennet paused and turned back to her. Really, he thought, someone should start correcting her as to proper Euphonian forms of address, especially considering how the other attendants in the corridor glared at her as they passed for such disrespect toward him. These little things were going to make Trix and Archer the target of more ire than was necessary, Bennet thought. But he just said, “Yes? What is it?”

 

“Hi,” she said, looking oddly nervous. “The Prince sent me to find you. He wanted to know if you could stop in to see him.”

 

Which made Bennet in turn feel unaccountably nervous. What could Archer want? And why would he be _nervous_ about it, he was technically now Archer’s _king_. “I just saw him,” Bennet pointed out.

 

“I know, sir, he’s…vexed about something.”

 

Bennet sighed. “What _now_?” He started stalking down the corridor toward his bedchamber.

 

“He’s really not a lot of trouble when he’s out of bed and mobile and doing things for himself,” Trix said earnestly, scurrying in Bennet’s wake and trying to avoid the snap of his cloak.

 

“No, I’m sure he’s much _more_ trouble,” snapped Bennet, because he could only imagine what trouble Archer would get into. “He goes around hiring mountain yaks and nearly getting himself killed. And he thinks he’s _boring_. I cannot even fathom what an _interesting_ Archer would be like.”

 

“That is exactly what I say about him, sir,” said Trix, sounding amused.

 

Bennet knocked briefly on the door to his bedchamber and strode in as if it was perfectly common for _him_ to be _summoned_ somewhere. “What is it?” he asked.

 

“Oh, good,” said Archer to Trix. “You found him.” He turned back to Bennet. “About the caravans—”

 

“Yes, your chests have arrived. I’m having them brought to you. I said that I would.”

 

“What did you mean when you said you would talk to them about their treatment of me?”

 

Bennet lifted his eyebrows at Archer. “I meant that I would talk to them about their treatment of you.” He became aware suddenly that Archer had changed since Bennet had seen him last. He had bathed, apparently, because his hair was newly damp and curling softly onto his forehead and he was sitting up in bed and he was wearing… “What are you wearing?”

 

“What did you say to them?” Archer asked, ignoring the question.

 

As if people ignored Bennet’s questions. Bennet was flummoxed enough to say, “I…What? I revoked their licenses, of course.”

 

“No.” Archer shook his head. “No, no, no. You can’t do that.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Bennet said before he could help it, and then heard what he’d said and heard the snort of disbelief from Andie in the outer chamber and said, “Fuck,” and turned to close the door behind him. “What are you talking about?” he said to Archer, bewildered.

 

“You can’t revoke their licenses. Go back and tell them you were wrong.”

 

Bennet stared at him in amazement. “How do things _work_ in Jadenvale? I can, _of course_ , revoke their licenses. And I am never _wrong_.”

 

Archer rolled his eyes. “Of course not,” he said, and then he threw back the covers and got out of bed.

 

“What are you doing?” Bennet asked, even as Trix said, “I don’t know if—”

 

“I’m fine,” Archer said firmly, waving her off, even though he looked a little paler than he had. “Call back the caravan managers. Let me talk to them. Let me apologize for—”

 

“Let _you_ apologize? For what?”

 

“Being me. Surely you’ve seen that I’m…prickly. Difficult to get along with. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t want me as a passenger. You can’t punish them for that. Trix, tell him.”

 

“Sir,” Trix started, sounding uncertain.

 

“You’re mad,” Bennet told Archer firmly. “Get back into bed.”

 

Archer frowned. “Don’t order me around.”

 

“If you swoon again, I won’t catch you this time,” Bennet warned him.

 

“I’m not going to _swoon_. For fuck’s sake. I’m perfectly fine. Trix, go out in the next chamber and tell that attendant, Andie, to do whatever is necessary to get the caravan managers back here—”

 

Bennet held a hand up toward Trix. “Don’t take a single fucking step,” he said, and then turned back to Archer. “Your plan is to meet these people in _pajamas_?”

 

Archer looked down at the dark blue silk pajamas he was wearing. “Why not? They’re nice pajamas.”

 

Bennet snorted. “Yes. They’re _my_ pajamas.”

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

“Oh,” said Archer. “I didn’t… _ask_ …to wear…your pajamas.”

 

Bennet stared at him.

 

“Just so you know. In case you thought I…I see your point. I should probably not wear your pajamas. Can I borrow your cape?”

 

“My _cape_?” repeated Bennet in disbelief.

 

“Well, I don’t have any clothing at the moment,” Archer pointed out, sounding irritated.

 

“This is the royal cloak,” said Bennet. “It’s not a fucking cape that I hand out to people.”

 

“Fuck, you Euphonians have more rules about more things.”

 

“Says the man whose country has _hospitality statutes_.”

 

“Maybe I’ll just go out and meet them naked, shall I? Do you think they would notice, as long as I bowed low enough?” Archer bowed dramatically, then said, “Oh, dear,” and pitched forward off-balance.

 

And Bennet practically _ran_ across the room to catch him. It was _ridiculous_. As if Archer’s bodyguard hadn’t been standing right there. But Archer caught himself on the bed and straightened and put a hand against his forehead and said faintly, “My _head_ …”

 

“Yes,” said Bennet shortly, and bodily manhandled him into bed. “Of all the fucking ridiculous…” he muttered, pulling the blankets up to Archer’s chin firmly. “Stay in this bed,” he commanded. “Stay in this bed and get better and stop being an idiot.”

 

“Will you go talk to the caravan managers for me?” asked Archer evenly.

 

“I don’t know why you think what happened with the caravan managers is your fault.”

 

“Most things are. Didn’t my sister tell you?”

 

“No. I’m beginning to think I need to have a much longer discussion with your sister than I had.”

 

“It makes sense that she left a lot out,” said Archer.

 

“Shut up,” Bennet bit out at him. “Just stop talking now, immediately. _Please_.”

 

Archer chewed on his lower lip but didn’t say anything.

 

“I’ll talk to the caravan managers,” said Bennet, even though he hadn’t meant to say any such thing.

 

But it made Archer smile, not quite as wide and uninhibited as the night he’d been delirious with fever but still quite lovely and _annoying_ , because frankly Bennet would do a lot of things to win that smile from Archer. Archer didn’t smile nearly enough.

 

“Thank you,” Archer said, only sounding a little smug.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

If anybody thought it unusual that Bennet restored the licenses to the caravan managers, they kept it to themselves. Which Bennet would have expected, because, until Archer had turned up, no one had ever questioned Bennet’s behavior. At any rate, Bennet pretended that he had intended to restore the licenses all along and asked the managers if they’d learned their lesson and they tearfully informed him that yes, they would be _angelic_ toward any potential visitors of Euphonia in the future.

 

Bennet spent a tedious evening once again entertaining the nobility of this portion of Euphonia. His business was done and he really should have been on his way but he was reluctant to leave Archer. For some reason he had decided that he would wait for Archer to recover and then escort him to the main palace himself. He told himself this was because it was better for all involved if Bennet mediated the first meeting between Archer and Ava. Especially now that he had met Archer himself. If there were other motivations behind Bennet’s decision to stay and accompany Archer, Bennet didn’t allow himself to consider them.

 

He did, however, consider many other things about Archer. The following day’s business was pointless in the extreme, because Bennet had settled anything of any importance and now the townsfolk were taking advantage of their extra time with their monarch to raise issues they would never dared have done in a more abbreviated visit. So Bennet had plenty of time to think of the way Archer had looked in his pajamas, too big for him, because Bennet was both taller and broader, but that had made them look all the more appealing to Bennet. Archer, in his pajamas, in his bed, and Archer was recovering from illness and Bennet should not have been having inappropriate thoughts about that scenario but he couldn’t help it. Bennet was aware that at this point he was leaving Archer in his bed because he didn’t like the idea of him in anyone else’s bed, even if nothing going on was anything _like that_.

 

But in the face of all of the dull people he dealt with all day, Bennet was practically itching with anticipation to have a conversation with Archer. He wanted to see if he could win himself another smile. He wanted to watch those dark eyes, glittering with intelligence, as they watched him with a careful closeness Bennet had never encountered before. Not a subject watching his King to anticipate what his next move should be but another kind of examination entirely, as if Bennet was a complicated clockwork mechanism that Archer was searching for the key for.

 

And something inside of Bennet wanted to see if Archer would find it, thought it possible Archer might, was desperate for anticipation of whatever it might be.

 

So Bennet spent his entire day anxious for it to end, because then he thought a reasonable period of time would have passed between visits to Archer and no one would remark upon it behind his back (which was the only place it would ever be remarked upon).

 

When Bennet got to his bedchamber, the door was standing open, largely out of necessity, because one of Archer’s chests was blocking it. Archer himself was standing in front of Bennet’s mirror, dressed in a fine dark suit with a bright blue tie, and Bennet wondered if he’d chosen blue because it was Euphonia’s royal color. Archer was studying himself in the mirror, and he looked bright with delight in a way Bennet had seen him only once before, when he had been delirious.

 

“Isn’t it lovely, Trix?” Archer sighed, and ran a fond hand down the lapel of his jacket.

 

“Very nice, sir,” said Trix, from over by the fireplace where she was sitting in front of another open chest, apparently looking through its contents.

 

Bennet wasn’t even sure she’d looked up at Archer but he agreed with her entirely. He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms and watched Archer preen in front of the mirror, and maybe it should have been ridiculously egotistical but Archer looked so pleased, so _happy_ , that Bennet had a hard time begrudging him the joy. He reminded himself that Archer seemed, frequently, like a deeply unhappy person. If he took pleasure from his clothing, Bennet was glad for it.

 

“I could use a proper shave, though,” Archer remarked mournfully, running a hand along his jaw. “And oh, the state of my hair.” He picked up a strand and let it flop back into a curl over his forehead, wrinkling his nose.

 

“I can arrange for that, you know,” said Bennet. “A shave and a haircut.”

 

Archer whirled, obviously startled, and then he settled back into his wide open smile. “Hi. My chests arrived.”

 

“I can see that,” said Bennet, pushing off the door and stepping around chests to make his way into the room. “Hi, Trix.” He couldn’t get over how easily he’d fallen into informality with the Jadenvalians. Trix didn’t even get up to greet him.

 

She said, “Hello, sir,” and went back to her chest, completely uninterested in him.

 

“What do you think of Jadenvalian clothes?” Archer asked, spreading his arms wide as if for inspection.

 

Bennet made a show of walking around Archer in a wide circle. He thought…a great deal of Jadenvalian clothes, but that was probably because these particular articles of Jadenvalian clothing were encasing Archer. “Very nice. For a first layer.”

 

He meant it teasingly, but Archer’s face visibly fell from his beam of pride, and Bennet felt horrible. His clothes brought Archer joy and he had managed to destroy it.

 

“Right,” said Archer. “You’re right. They’re impractical. I shouldn’t have brought them, but I didn’t know…”

 

And Archer was _right_ , because they _were_ impractical for Euphonian weather, and Archer had brought whole _chests_ full of them, but Bennet said, “The tailoring is lovely, though. You should bring your tailor in, he can make you some in some heavier fabrics.”

 

Archer smiled at him, not as widely as he had been, but Bennet felt a bit better. “Yes. Maybe. Jadenvalian tailors are fantastic. They could fix your sleeves, you wear them too long.” Archer reached out and grasped Bennet’s cuff, where it sat just beyond his wrist, half-covering his palm.

 

Bennet looked at Archer’s fingers against his skin, the brush of them on the sensitive pulse-point thrumming beneath the surface. Could Archer feel it racing there? Bennet said, “They’re supposed to…prove I don’t work with my hands. The fact that I have no need to keep them…unencumbered.”

 

Archer dropped his cuff and turned back to the mirror and straightened his tie. “Right. Yes. Makes sense. I’ll suggest that idea to Alex, she’d probably love it.”

 

Bennet cleared his throat and turned to Trix to try to shake the buzz in his head from the encounter with Archer. “He seems much better. You must be pleased.”

 

“I am, sir,” said Trix, smiling.

 

“I’m right here,” said Archer from behind Bennet.

 

“Yes, but I know which person has the true power in this room,” said Bennet good-naturedly.

 

“Says the King of Euphonia,” said Archer, his eyes dancing with amusement as he edged past Bennet over to the nightstand by the bed, where Archer had apparently deposited gleaming sapphire cufflinks that he now inserted into his sleeves.

 

There was something overwhelmingly domestic about all of this, something that made Bennet say, without thinking, “You should come to dinner.”

 

“Dinner?” Archer looked up from his cuffs—set back from his wrists, in the Jadenvalian style.

 

“Yes.” Bennet, having said it, went all in. He hadn’t escorted anyone to a dinner in…forever, frankly, but these are unusual circumstances, and Archer would make the tedium of the evening immeasurably better. “Dinner. With me,” he clarified, in case Archer was confused on that point.

 

Archer _was_ staring at him. “Oh,” he said faintly. “Yes. I suppose…”

 

Archer didn’t seem as flattered by the invitation as Bennet had imagined he might be. Bennet decided to provide him with a gracious way to say no. “If you’re not feeling up to it—”

 

“No.” Archer’s voice sounded much firmer. He cleared his throat and said again, “No. I feel quite well. I would love a proper dinner.” He met Bennet’s eyes and nodded, as if his mind was made up.

 

“Good.” Bennet smiled at him. “I’ve some things to attend to, I’ll be back in an hour.”

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

An hour! A fucking _hour_! To get himself ready for dinner with the King!

 

Archer waited very calmly until he heard the door of the outer chamber close, and then he hissed, “Trix! Go and figure out how I get a proper fucking shave and a haircut!”

 

“On it,” said Trix, scrambling to her feet and rushing out the door.

 

Archer rushed over to his piles of chests, throwing them open with abandon. What to wear, what to wear… Of course, he _could_ wear what he was already wearing. The King had seemed to like it. Even if it was too light for the weather here. And he didn’t want to seem as if he’d taken too much care. It was just dinner. It was just the King being _nice_. It was just…

 

Archer stepped over to the doorway to the outer chamber and looked at Andie, who was sitting by the fireplace knitting. “Could you kindly turn your back for a moment?” he asked politely.

 

Andie lifted her eyebrows but said, “Of course, Eminence,” and turned her back.

 

Archer walked back into the bedchamber, clambered onto the bed, and allowed himself to jump up and down gleefully upon the mattress, which was something he’d never done before in his _life_ , but he felt it was called for, because he’d never been invited to dinner before in his life, either. And it wasn’t a date—it wasn’t a _date_ —but still, it was something to have a very attractive man with beautiful eyes focus his attention on you and invite you to dinner. That was _something_ , wasn’t it? Certainly more than Archer had ever experienced in his life.

 

Archer stopped jumping up and down and got back onto the floor and fixed his disheveled suit and walked back over to the doorway, where Andie’s back was still facing him. “Thank you,” he said. “All set now.”

 

Andie went back to her knitting as if nothing had happened.

 

Trix came back, out of breath, with a man bobbing in her wake.

 

“He says he can shave you and do his best with your hair,” Trix said.

 

“I’m not familiar with Jadenvalian styles, Eminence,” said the barber, bowing at his waist.

 

“It’s fine,” Archer said. “As far as I can tell, we just wear it slightly shorter than you do. I need it cleaned up a bit, it’s an absolute mess.” Archer ruffled the mop of it to emphasize this to the barber.

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” said the barber.

 

Archer thought he did marvelously. It wasn’t a Jadenvalian cut but it was something in between the two countries’ styles, somewhat more rakish than Archer usually wore his hair. The barber had accidentally cut it shorter on top than Archer would have liked, eliminating his ability to comb it back, but the wind-tossed natural inclination of Archer’s hair seemed more at home in the Euphonian context, so Archer was pleased with it.

 

“Do you think there are rules of etiquette we don’t know?” Archer asked Trix when the barber had left, trying not to fret.

 

“I know there are, sir,” Trix said, sounding unconcerned.

 

“Fuck,” Archer said. “What if I make a fool of myself not knowing what fork to hold?”

 

Trix gave him a look. “He knows you’re from Jadenvale. He doesn’t think you’re a savage.”

 

“I don’t know what he thinks of me,” Archer said to his reflection in the mirror, frowning at himself. He thought he looked severe and serious. Was that a good thing? Did that mean the King would take him seriously?

 

“He thinks you’re interesting,” Trix said, as if this was not a huge revelation.

 

Archer whirled on her, eyes wide. “Does he?”

 

Trix was sitting by the fire, flipping through a book she’d taken out of the bookshelf. She nodded indifferently.

 

“Trix!” Archer raced over to her and put a hand over the page of her book so her attention would be on him. “This is important! How did you know that? Did he tell you that?”

 

Trix lifted an eyebrow at him. “Yes,” she said simply. And then amended, “Basically.”

 

“ _Basically_?” Archer stood and closed his hands into his newly cut hair. “Well, what does _that_ mean? ‘Interesting’? Was that his word? Is that a good word? I don’t even know if that’s _good_.”

 

“I think,” said Trix, too casual, as she turned the page of her book, “that it depends on what you _want_ him to think about you.”

 

Which paused Archer in his frantic pacing. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and thought, _I want him to…I want him to think I’m the most amazing person he’s ever met_. Fuck, like _that_ would ever happen. _Have realistic expectations, Archer!_ he chided himself, tearing his hands through his hair again.

 

There was a knock on the door, even though it was open, and the King leaned in. He was dressed the same way he had been earlier, so Archer was glad he hadn’t changed into something more formal.

 

“Hello,” the King said pleasantly. “You must move this chest away from the door. I can’t imagine why they thought this was an appropriate place for it.”

 

“We filled the room, sir,” Trix explained, rising and straightening out her dress. “And it seemed ridiculous to unpack. We thought we’d be on the move soon.”

 

“Depending on how you feel,” the King said to Archer, “yes. You’ve cut your hair.”

 

“Yes,” said Archer. “I thought I should look presentable.”

 

The King smiled. “You already did, but it’s lovely. It suits you. And it suits this.” The King held something forward with a small flourish.

 

Curious, Archer stepped forward to accept whatever it was, and realized with delight. “Oh! My crown!”

 

“Indeed. I’ve had it in safe keeping. I kept meaning to return it to you.”

 

“Thank you.” Archer smiled at him and turned to position it properly on his head in the mirror. Maybe a bit overkill for a simple dinner, so Archer explained, turning back to the King, “Sorry. It was a gift from my parents. When I was still a baby. Alex and Alice were always after me to choose a grander one, but it—I don’t have many gifts from them. I like to have it with me.”

 

The King did nothing but smile in reply, but it was a nice smile. Archer didn’t think that he thought Archer was a complete idiot for his sentimental attachment.  He said merely, “Ready now?”

 

Archer nodded and told himself not to throw up all over his escort.

 

It was the first time Archer could remember leaving the King’s chambers, and he tried to take in the corridor they were walking down, the warm stone floors, the narrow windows, the profusion of glowing lamps, but mostly Archer was aware of the way the King’s cloak fluttered beside him as they walked, nearly brushing his own sleeve.

 

The King said suddenly, “You were young when they died, your parents.”

 

“I was five,” said Archer.

 

“I’m sorry,” said the King. “That must have been difficult.”

 

Archer shrugged, because _yes_ , but wasn’t that obvious? “How old were you, when your parents died?”

 

“Twelve.”

 

“That’s how old Alex was.”

 

“Ava was seven.”

 

 _Ava_. Somehow Archer kept forgetting all about her.

 

“I’d imagine her memories of my parents are similar to your memories of your parents. In…quality.” The King cleared his throat and said, “When you’re feeling better, I can take you out on one of the parapets so you can get a feel for the mountainside, but at the moment the night air wouldn’t be good for your recovering lungs.”

 

Archer nodded, not really knowing what to say.

 

The King seemed content to keep talking to fill the silence. “It bodes well, though, your recovery. You seem likely to adjust to the climate. I think once you—ah, here’s the herald.”

 

A man stepped forward from beside a pair of doors and bowed low to the King and then at the waist to Archer. “Begging your pardon, Eminence,” he said to Archer, “but I wanted to be sure of your formal title before announcing you.”

 

Odd to be announced at a simple dinner, thought Archer. Then again, the Euphonians must have had a thing for announcing. That must have been where the The Endians had gained the tradition. Archer said, “Only Prince of Jadenvale.”

 

The herald bowed his head briefly and then flung open the door and shouted out, “His Eminence, the Only Prince of Jadenvale! His Excellence, the King of Euphonia!”

 

The King gestured for Archer to precede him into the room.

 

Archer stepped through the doorway…and then froze. Because this was _not_ a simple dinner. There were at least two hundred people standing at attention in the dining chamber, then bursting into applause as the King made his entrance behind Archer. _You thought this was something like a date_ , Archer berated himself furiously. _Idiot. It’s a fucking state dinner._

 

The King had entered the room and seemed to notice that Archer was hanging back in the doorway. He turned back to him, lifting an inquiring eyebrow.

 

What the hell could Archer say? _I thought it was just going to be the two of us_? _I didn’t know you were putting me on display like an animal in a zoo_? Because now everyone was staring at him curiously, waiting for him to fuck something up.

 

Archer said honestly, “I don’t…I don’t know the protocol.”

 

The King tipped a smile at him. “I thought you didn’t stand on ceremony.”

 

Archer tore his eyes away from the four hundred eyes staring at him and looked at the King helplessly.

 

The King took a step closer to him and leaned down to speak into his ear. “Stay here at the top of the table. Bow to no one. You’re the honored guest here. You’ll be served first. No one will approach you without my permission so I’ll keep them from you. Smile a lot. You have a nice smile. You should use it more often.” Then he stepped back and winked and walked away from him.

 

 _You have a nice smile_? That was the King’s advice?

 

Archer, aware everyone was still staring at him, tried a smile. It didn’t seem to have the magical effect the King had seemed to think it would. So Archer lifted a hand in the air and made a coin appear.

 

Which got a ripple of appreciative laughter and some scattered applause.

 

The King, making his way through the crowd, glanced back at him and grinned and tipped his chin a little toward the head of the table.

 

Archer walked carefully over and let his chair be pulled out for him. A steaming bowl of soup was placed immediately in front of him, and wine was poured into a goblet for him, and that seemed to start the festivities. Everyone else began eating and drinking and while some people were obviously still staring at and talking about him, many other people appeared to have moved on. Archer ate his soup automatically, remembering to smile every so often, and watched the King as he moved easily through the crowd. He smiled but he didn’t laugh the way he did when Archer spoke to him, and even his smile seemed tighter, less natural. Archer thought he was probably imagining these things, but when the King glanced across at him, Archer was sure that his smile shifted into something kinder, more genuine, more _intimate_.

 

Archer smiled back at him.

 

Trix, from the seat beside him, cleared her throat and turned her spoon over in her hand and said, “I don’t want to start a fight about this.”

 

“About what?” asked Archer, distractedly, still watching the King.

 

“But I know that you…like to imagine yourself, at least…more discreet in these matters.”

 

Archer’s spoon stilled in his soup. He turned his head slowly to look at Trix, and when he spoke his voice was dangerously low. “What matters?”

 

Trix looked back at him, because Trix was never cowed by him, and, even worse, Trix looked _soft_ , like she felt _sorry_ about this. “You look at him like…The way you look at him…” Trix finally shrugged helplessly.

 

Archer stared at her. Then he glanced back at the King on the other side of the room. Then he looked at all of the people around the table, watching him, gossiping about him. _The way he looks at the King_ …

 

He scraped his chair back to stand, the attendant behind him flurrying into action.

 

“Sir…” Trix started.

 

“It’s fine,” Archer said firmly. “It’s all fine. I just…don’t feel well. Stay here. Enjoy the dinner.” Archer started walking away.

 

“Sir—” Trix went to stand.

 

“ _Stay. Here_ ,” Archer said flatly, and Trix sank back into her seat and nodded.

 

Archer stepped out into the corridor and realized he had no fucking idea where to go. He hadn’t been paying attention to their journey. He’d been paying attention to the King next to him, the hint of heat from his body, the laser focus of his attention.

 

The herald looked at him in confusion as he turned in a circle in the middle of the corridor, and then Archer snapped at him, “I need to know how to get to the King’s bedchamber.”

 

The herald gave him directions—right and then left and then right—and eventually Archer managed to stumble his way back. Andie said nothing to him as he stalked into the bedchamber. The bed had been turned down by somebody, and Archer crawled into it and pulled the covers up and over his head and took a few shuddering breaths and wished he was fucking _anywhere but Euphonia_.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

Bennet became aware, in between the thirtieth and fortieth time someone commented on the attractiveness of _Ava’s Prince_ , that Archer had left the dining chamber. Trix was sitting beside Archer’s empty chair, looking absolutely miserable. Had they quarreled?

 

“Roger,” Bennet said, and Roger hurried forth, bowing low.

 

“See where the Prince has gone,” Bennet commanded him.

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said Roger, still in his bow, “but I’m sure he—”

 

“Never mind,” snapped Bennet. “I’ll do it myself.” He sent Roger a glare in answer to Roger’s surprised glance upward, and then Bennet pushed his way through the crowd, now all furiously whispering about what was happening.

 

Bennet reached Trix’s seat and said without preamble, “Where’s Archer?”

 

“He wasn’t feeling well, sir,” said Trix.

 

Bennet narrowed his eyes at her. “And you’re leaving him unattended? Shall I have a doctor sent to him?”

 

“In truth?” Trix turned in her seat and glowered up at him, and Bennet actually head the collective gasp of surprise from the onlookers at such behavior. They couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her attitude was offensive enough by Euphonian standards. “I don’t think he wanted to be on display tonight. _Sir_.” The “sir” was a mocking afterthought.

 

Bennet tilted his head, perplexed. “But he seemed pleased to come to dinner, he put on his diadem, and I thought he would want to show off his—” And Bennet thought of the way Archer had frozen in the doorway, the way he’d been worried about the protocol, the way every eye had been on him and Bennet had somehow assumed Archer wouldn’t care what they thought the way Archer didn’t seem to care what Bennet thought. Except that Archer cared _far too much_ what people thought, it was obvious from the care he spent on his wardrobe, from how severely he guarded the warmth in his smile, from how remote he could make his dark eyes when he grew defensive. The way Archer had put on the diadem because of a sentimental attachment and not because it was the proper crown for his station. “Oh, fuck,” Bennet realized. “He thought…”

 

Trix gave him a dry look and turned back to her soup.

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said Roger beside him, bowing low, “I’ll see to the Prince—”

 

“Oh, really?” Bennet interrupted mockingly. “Now you’re so eager to see to the Prince? Stay here and keep dinner moving. I’ll be back.”

 

Roger bowed his head briefly, but Bennet could see he was furious with this turn of events.

 

Bennet ignored him, though. He stepped out of the dining chamber and the herald lounging by the door immediately snapped to attention and then bowed low.

 

“Where did he go?” Bennet asked him.

 

“To your bedchamber, Excellence,” the herald replied.

 

Bennet swept through the corridors, his cloak snapping behind him, and stilled in his own open doorway, unsure what to say. Archer was nothing but a lump under the blankets. Bennet wasn’t sure if he was sleeping but he hadn’t bothered to shut any lights off.

 

Bennet knocked on the door.

 

“Go away!” Archer’s voice was muffled from within the blankets. “I don’t want any fire service or hot toddy service or window washing service or whatever the fuck you—”

 

Bennet pulled the blankets back and looked calmly down at Archer, who looked shocked back up at him. “I don’t do any of those things,” Bennet remarked.

 

“Go away,” Archer snapped, and pulled the blanket back over his head. “Just _go away_.”

 

Bennet sat beside the bed and contemplated the lump of Archer and recognized that it was unlike him to worry so much about someone else’s happiness even as he sat there worrying so much about Archer’s happiness.

 

“Tomorrow,” Bennet heard himself say, “I’m riding out to check on the glacier. I thought you might like to come along.”

 

“No, thank you,” Archer said.

 

“Just us,” Bennet said.

 

Archer said nothing.

 

“Well,” Bennet continued into the silence, “and several dozen attendants but we’ll see if I can’t lose them. I used to be very good at it as a boy.”

 

Archer shifted the blanket enough so that Bennet could see one dark eye gleaming out at him. “I thought you said I wasn’t well enough to be outside.”

 

“At night. It’s damp here at night. It’s not good for your lungs. But the glacier isn’t far, and I think you might be going stir crazy in here.”

 

Archer was silent for a moment. Then he said suspiciously, “Is that another delightful Euphonian illness?”

 

Bennet laughed. _This_ , he thought. _This is why you find yourself worrying so much about him. He makes you laugh, more than you have in ages_. Which was something to consider, maybe, at a later point in time. “It means you’ve been in a confined space too long. You need to see some sky.”

 

Archer was silent for another moment. “I don’t want to hold you back. I’m not terribly good at riding the mountain yaks.”

 

“Archer,” Bennet said, feeling his lips twitch again. “Nobody rides mountain yaks. That’s just something _you_ do because of how mad you are.”

 

“What do you ride, then?”

 

“Horses, Archer. We ride horses. Do they have those in Jadenvale?”

 

“I’m actually excellent at riding horses,” said Archer.

 

“Good,” said Bennet, standing. “It’s settled. Sleep well, Prince. I’ll be sure to tell the floor-sweeping service not to disturb you.”

 

Archer made a face at him, and Bennet chuckled and pulled the blanket up over Archer’s head for him.

 

Bennet refused to let the herald re-announce him and tried to slip back into the dining chamber as surreptitiously as possible. Trix was still sitting next to Archer’s chair, eating. Bennet slid into his own chair and said to her, “I think I’ve improved his mood enough that it’s safe for you to return to the bedchamber but I also think he’d be quite alright with you staying for the remainder of the dinner.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” said Trix, and Bennet felt uncomfortably like she was busy appraising him.

 

Which was the only reason Bennet could give to why he put his fork down and turned to her and said, “It isn’t my intention to hurt him. I’d appreciate your assistance in that.”

 

Trix said wryly, “I would gladly provide any such assistance but I fear it’s far too late for that.”

 

Bennet drew his eyebrows together. “What does _that_ mean?”

 

Trix shook her head and stood and said, “I may as well get back to him. I _am_ his head of security.”

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

The day dawned clear, the sky the color of the King’s remarkable eyes, and Archer refused to let himself get excited. He’d been an _idiot_ the day before. Probably this was going to be a dull formal picnic on a glacier, with a million luminaries gathered around, all of them poking at him and calling him _Eminence_ in that weird Euphonian way they had.

 

So Archer sat at the window and watched the sun rise over this foreign landscape of high mountain peaks and bright white snow and decidedly did not get excited about the prospect of going exploring.

 

Trix rose from the makeshift bed she insisted on sleeping in and stretched and yawned and said, “Maybe I should fetch us coffee.”

 

“Yes,” Archer said. “I would kill for coffee. It’s been _days_ since I’ve had coffee.”

 

Trix grinned at him. “And that’s how I know you’re finally feeling better.”

 

Archer smiled back at her, because he _did_ feel better. He could tell that he did from the fact that he _was_ curious about this place, because he no longer felt like crawling into bed and never getting back out of it.

 

There was a knock on the door by someone Archer didn’t recognize, who walked in and bowed at the waist and said, “Eminence,” and held out a piece of paper.

 

Archer took the paper, which was a heavy cream stationery with his name written on it, in graceful well-educated penmanship. _Archer._ Archer turned the paper over, found it closed with dark blue wax stamped with the odd six-pointed emblem of Euphonia. Archer looked at his name again, with a little thrum of excitement, because he was fairly sure this paper was from the King, which meant the King had sat and written his name on this piece of paper, and that was _not_ a thrilling thought, he told himself firmly, and opened the message.

 

_My apologies that this is not a true Jadenvalian tailor but he’ll do for now, I trust. A cobbler will be stopping by as well to make sure you have the proper boots. I’ll be along soon. –B._

 

Archer drew his eyebrows together at the “B.” A curious sign-off for King David of Euphonia. What would the “B” stand for? But that had to be who had sent the note. Archer could think of no one else in this kingdom who would have sent him such a note.

 

To clarify, he looked up at the waiting tailor. “The King sent this?”

 

“Yes, Eminence,” confirmed the tailor, with a little bow of his head.

 

Archer tucked the note into one of his chests, deciding to puzzle over the signature later, and turned back to the tailor. “Well. Let’s get started.”

 

Archer was poked and prodded and pinned with all manner of heavy fabrics he wasn’t used to. The tailor sighed and clucked and said, “I’ll do the best I can, but time is limited. You Jadenvalians have such beautiful clothing, I apologize for not meeting your standards.”

 

“Do you know about Jadenvalian clothing?” Archer asked, surprised.

 

“I apprenticed in Jadenvale,” said the tailor, smiling. “I am familiar with Jadenvalian habits, sir.”

 

Which explained why the tailor had dropped so many formalities.

 

“That’s a relief,” said Archer.

 

“I’m sure you have nothing appropriate for Euphonia. The King has commissioned a full wardrobe for you, but he said you’d like to choose the fabrics. He’s asked me to accompany you to the main city until your proper Jadenvalian tailor can join you.”

 

“Oh,” said Archer, thrown by all of this information. “I…Yes. That would be nice. Thank you.”

 

“Thank him,” smiled the tailor. “We do serve at the pleasure of the King. I am indebted at you introducing him to the wonders of Jadenvalian tailoring. No one’s ever considered my Jadenvalian apprentice an advantage up until now.”

 

“Cretins,” said Archer, but he was smiling at the tailor, and the tailor laughed.

 

Archer relaxed. This, he thought, was something he could do. Even with the strangeness of the cuts and fabrics, this was something he _understood_.

 

Trix came back with coffee.

 

“This is Trix,” Archer said, accepting the coffee from her. “She is an angel who bestows coffee.”

 

“What a useful angel,” said the tailor. “I’m Felix. I’m supposed to be making you some appropriate clothing for the outing today, too.”

 

“Outing?” Trix echoed.

 

“I didn’t tell you,” Archer said, trying to keep his voice light. “We’re going to see the glacier.”

 

“Is that safe?” asked Trix worriedly.

 

“That’s what I’m here to find out!” announced a booming voice, and a bustling mustachioed man entered the room.

 

“This is getting to be quite a party,” said Felix.

 

“Mind your tongue in front of His Eminence,” snapped the doctor.

 

“I’m Jadenvalian,” Archer inserted coolly. “His behavior is quite appropriate. Who are you?”

 

“I am the royal doctor.” The doctor gave him a bow from the waist. “Begging your pardon, Eminence. His Excellence sent for me because of your illness, but now I find you planning an excursion.”

 

“I’m better,” Archer said.

 

“I’d like for you to check him over,” Trix said.

 

Archer huffed an impatient sigh but consented to the doctor listening to his chest and making him breathe and cough and then breathe again.

 

Finally the doctor stepped back and said, as if he disapproved, “Well. You _are_ quite healthy at the moment. It speaks well for your constitution. It’s almost Euphonian in resilience.”

 

“How fortunate,” said Archer sarcastically.

 

“Indeed,” said the doctor seriously, the sarcasm apparently lost on him. “Don’t try to do too much today. While you are out, this room should be aired out. It is full of bad humors. And be back before nightfall, Eminence.” The doctor gave him another waist bow before turning and leaving.

 

“What exactly does he think I’m going to do at this glacier anyhow?” muttered Archer.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

 

“Look at you,” said the King when he arrived. “You look almost Euphonian.”

 

“Do I?” asked Archer, who’d been admiring his new clothes in the mirror.

 

“Except for the Jadenvalian twinkle in your eye,” said the King.

 

Archer rolled his eyes at the King by way of the mirror. The King smirked at him from the doorway.

 

“I’m certainly hot enough to feel Euphonian,” Archer said, turning away from the mirror.

 

“Good. Because it’s much colder outside. Where’s Trix?”

 

“One of your attendants fetched her to make sure she’s capable of handling a horse and won’t be a liability.”

 

The King’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure she loved that.”

 

“Trix’s mom taught her how to curse people. I’d steer clear of that particular attendant for a while.”

 

The King laughed that glorious laugh he had. _Why don’t you do that with other people?_ Archer wanted to ask. _I wish you would so I would stop feeling special_ , he wanted to say.

 

Instead he said nothing, and the King said, “Come and choose your steed, Eminence.”

 

“It’s ‘Highness,’ you know,” Archer said, as he followed the King out of the palace. “That’s my correct title.”

 

“Not here in Euphonia.” The outer door was opened by two guards, and Archer was hit in the face with a blast of frigid air. He huddled gratefully into the new well-fitting furs with which he was outfitted. The King gestured to the snowy peaks all around them. “Here in Euphonia, only the mountains are high. This way.”

 

Archer tried to keep up with the King’s steady strides through the snowbanks but he couldn’t help that he was so busy looking around that he walked right into the King’s back when he stopped abruptly.

 

“Careful,” the King said, catching him. “Do pay attention to where you’re going.”

 

“What do you call—” Archer began, pointing.

 

“Shh.” The King put a gloved finger against Archer’s mouth.

 

Archer, wide-eyed, fell silent.

 

“I will answer every eager question from you, but first, pick your horse.” The King indicated the stables they were in.

 

Archer had barely noticed the stables. He stepped around the King and walked up and down, studying the horses critically. They were shorter and squatter than Jadenvalian horses, with much shaggier coats. Archer wasn’t entirely sure how to judge a Euphonian horse but he spent a second looking into their eyes and chose the one who nickered at him.

 

“This one,” he said, and smiled and let the horse’s muzzle butt up against his glove.

 

“Good choice. His name is Fritz,” said the King, beckoning a stable boy over to assist with the horse’s saddling.

 

Archer liked Fritz immediately. He was a silvery gold in color that shimmered in the bright Euphonian sunlight and made Archer think of the white-sand beaches at home. Pleased, he patted at his neck and waited patiently for the rest of the company to saddle up. He spotted Trix on a black-and-white horse. She waved to him and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and made other derogatory hand gestures about the other attendants.

 

The King came out on a midnight black horse the color of the King’s hair and trotted over to where Archer was waiting.

 

“Let’s go,” he said.

 

“It’s just us?” Archer said, surprised.

 

“Didn’t I tell you it was?”

 

“Yes. I…”

 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Archer,” said the King seriously. “Us and several dozen attendants, I said.” The King gestured to the attendants who fell into a protective circle around them. “Now. Let’s ride, shall we?”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seventeen

 

Archer was fascinated by Euphonia. Archer did not stop asking questions. The King answered them all patiently, as thoroughly as he could, and didn’t blink when every answer provoked more questions out of Archer. They rode easily through the snow, the horses clearly used to it, passing in and out of bright sunlight and purple shadow. The day was blinding, much brighter than Jadenvale ever seemed, and the air was so sharp it was like a knife to breathe. Archer felt immeasurably better, thrumming with energy. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so exhilarated in his entire life. He honestly didn’t know if it was the weather or the lack of boredom or the King, next to him, all to himself for luxurious hours. Archer could almost feel guilty for the selfish distraction he was surely being, except that eventually the King would go back to his regular life and Archer would be foisted off on the still unknown princess and so Archer was going to take everything he could get, frankly.

 

Eventually they finished mounting a gentle rise and there before them spread an endless expanse of unbroken whiteness that took Archer’s breath away.

 

“What is it?” he murmured in awe.

 

“The glacier,” the King said.

 

“It’s…”

 

“Do you like it?” asked the King, almost shyly.

 

“Yes. It’s like the ocean at home. Only not blue.”

 

“It’s ice blue,” said the King. “Like my eyes.”

 

Archer looked away from the glacier quizzically. “Ice blue? Is that what color you would call my eyes?”

 

“Yes. Surely you’ve noticed? It’s an unusual color in Euphonia. Considered good luck. Ice blue eyes for a ruler.”

 

“Who called them _icy_?” Archer asked in amazement. “Surely they’ve never looked at them before? Your eyes are anything but _icy_.”

 

The King looked at him for a long moment, blue eyes on full display. Then he said, “I’m sorry for last night.”

 

“Don’t be,” Archer said. “I am. I should have…” Archer shook his head and shrugged.

 

“Should have what?” asked the King, sounding curious.

 

Archer looked out at the sea of snow and took a deep breath and turned toward the King. “There’s something you should know about me. Although I’m sure you’ve figured it out already.”

 

“If you’re going to tell me you’re a bit of a clotheshorse, I’m well aware—”

 

“I’m a terrible royal.”

 

The King tipped his head. “What gives you that idea?”

 

“Of course you wanted to present me last night. It was stupid of me not to realize that. I’m terrible at remembering that—”

 

“You’re a person, Archer. You deserve to not be on display sometimes.”

 

“Do I?” said Archer. “Do _you_?”

 

“Yes,” said the King simply. “I think maybe that’s what makes you an excellent royal. You remind the rest of us that we’re still people, too. Now. I hear that the Jadenvalians race their horses on the beach.”

 

“What?” asked Archer, still distracted by what the King had said.

 

“Want to see how cleverly I can divest us of the attendants?”

 

“What?” asked Archer, even more confused.

 

The King turned slightly away, calling, “Roger? The Prince and I are going to race each other across the glacier.”

 

“ _What_?” said Archer.

 

But the King had already dashed off, his horse’s hooves pounding over the ice.

 

“Fucking _cheater_!” Archer shouted at him, and followed behind him.

 

It was better than racing on the beach. The sharpness of the air in his face, the dazzling white-and-blue of this landscape, so different from the white and blue Archer had left behind, and the black horse in front of him that Archer’s Fritz slowly gained on. Archer would have galloped along the glacier forever.

 

Eventually, though, he realized that the King was slowing. Archer shot past him, glanced over his shoulder, and then pulled up and trotted back to where the King was waiting for him.

 

His hood had fallen off and his black hair was tangled all over his head. He looked impossibly young as he grinned at Archer. “Not bad for a Jadenvalian,” he said.

 

“Very cunning of you,” said Archer, “to cheat like that. Very like a Euphonian.” They were close enough that Archer could lean forward to give him a gentle shove.

 

The King laughed, then said, “I wanted to show you this. I wanted to get your scientific opinion.”

 

“My scientific opinion?” echoed Archer. “I don’t know anything about glaciers.”

 

“You will,” said the King confidently, and dismounted.

 

Archer frowned at his easy assumption but also dismounted and followed him to a part of the glacier he hadn’t noticed, where there was a crevice in the ice along which water was flowing, like a stream within the glacier.

 

“Running water,” Archer said, and thought. “I haven’t seen any of that in Euphonia,” he realized.

 

“Because we don’t have any,” said the King grimly, looking down at the trickling water.

 

Archer crouched beside the stream, peering at it. “Is it water? Or is it something else?”

 

“It’s water. We do periodic checks of the glacier. The attendants discovered this and brought it in for testing. It’s glacier water.”

 

“Glacier water.” Archer stood back up and looked at the King. “It’s coming from the glacier? The glacier is melting?”

 

“That’s what I was hoping you would have an opinion on. Every time we check it, the stream is a bit bigger. Every time we check it, our snowbanks decrease. The only conclusion I can draw is that Euphonia’s getting warmer.”

 

“I can’t imagine Euphonia was ever colder than this,” said Archer, with an attempt at lightness.

 

The King smiled to show he appreciated the effort but he didn’t seem amused. “This is a snow kingdom, Archer. I don’t know how to preside over a non-snow kingdom. My people don’t know how to live in a world without snow, where there is gentle ground and green plants and no need for fur coats. I know it seems harsh to you but we…This is home to us, the way Jadenvale is home to you. Imagine if it changed, essentially, at heart, in its nature.”

 

“Yeah,” Archer said, looking back over the glacier.

 

“I’m hoping you can help. If we could discover the source, what’s causing this…” The King took a deep breath. “And, if we can’t, we need someone in the royal family who knows of a life without snow. Who can calmly and rationally…tell us what to do.”

 

Archer looked back at the King. “That’s why you sent for me.”

 

The King, after a moment, nodded.

 

“I would have come without being _commanded_ ,” Archer said, and headed back to Fritz.

 

“Oh, really?” said the King, sounding annoyed. “Would you have? Come all the way here to help people you’ve never even met?”

 

“Yes,” Archer said coldly. “I would have. _Jadenvalian hospitality_.”

 

After a moment of glaring, the King dropped his eyes, which Archer took to mean he’d won that particular argument. Archer glanced over his shoulder toward the approaching attendants. “Let me tell them what measurements I’ll need,” he said. “And then I’ll need them to come back out here regularly. The data needs to be unimpeachable. That’s the only way to conduct a solid experiment.”

 

“They’ll do anything you request,” said the King. “They know your importance. They’ve been briefed.”

 

Archer nodded and turned Fritz toward the attendants.

 

“Archer,” said the King.

 

Archer paused and looked back over his shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” said the King.

 

“What’s the proper form of address?” Archer asked with a little smile. “You’re welcome, Excellence?”

 

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

 

They reached the outskirts of the town that clung to the palace walls, and Bennet dropped back with Archer, moving at a slower and slower pace, pointing out things that surely needed no pointing out, although Archer was attentive and keen.

 

And also exhausted. He kept trying to stifle yawns.

 

“I’ve kept you out too long,” Bennet said regretfully.

 

Archer shook his head. “The sun hasn’t set yet. Your royal doctor gave strict instructions I was to be back before nightfall. Plenty of time yet.”

 

“The sun will set in twenty minutes,” Bennet said ruefully.

 

“Twenty minutes,” Archer said, smiling. “Plenty of time.”

 

“How was Felix?” Bennet asked.

 

“How hard did you have to look to find a tailor apprenticed in Jadenvale?” asked Archer.

 

“Was he?” asked Bennet innocently. “What an astonishing coincidence. I had no idea.”

 

Archer grinned at him. “You didn’t have to.”

 

“I wanted to,” Bennet said, which was the truth. “Really, for a smile like that from you, I would do a great deal.”

 

Archer blinked, his smile fading, looking a little shell-shocked.

 

Bennet reached out and grabbed Fritz’s bridle, bringing the horse to a halt. “Go,” he snapped out impatiently to the attendants behind him who hesitated uncertainly. “I could throw a stone and hit the palace, we’ll be along directly.”

 

The attendants bowed frantically and kept going. Bennet didn’t know where Trix was but she’d apparently gone on with the rest of the attendants because soon the street was Bennet and Archer and the townspeople sparing them curious looks. Archer’s gloved hands were clenched around the reins tightly and his face, pink from the cold air, continued to look astonished at Bennet’s behavior.

 

“I’ve been wrong-footed with you from the beginning,” Bennet said. “And I’m sorry. I never intended to…offend you in any of the numerous ways I offended you. You aren’t at all what I was expecting and I’ve continued to set my foot wrong when it comes to you.”

 

“I…It’s not your fault. I am apparently never what people expect,” Archer managed.

 

“And that’s a _good_ thing, Archer. Damn it, why don’t you say that like it’s a good thing? You’re unexpected, unusual, an incredible amount of trouble, and never for one second dull. Damn it, Archer, it’s a _good_ thing. It’s a _spectacular_ thing. You are…a _spectacular_ thing. Why don’t people tell you?” Bennet didn’t realize he had lifted his gloved hand to cup Archer’s cheek until he saw it there. Archer’s eyes, dark and wide, stared at him. “It’s Bennet,” said Bennet, transfixed by how incredibly gorgeous Archer was, thumbing at the dimple in his chin.

 

“What is?” Archer whispered, his lips forming the words so very near where Bennet’s fingers were splayed.

 

“The proper form of address,” Bennet murmured. “For you. To me. It’s my name. My…Not the public name, not the King name, it’s the name my family calls me, the name my…” There was no one who called him it, other than Ava, and so he finished with, “The name you should call me. Bennet.”

 

“Bennet,” said Archer, his voice low and hoarse, and it was the first time Bennet had ever heard his name said like that, said as if from a lover. Bennet tightened the hand still on his horse’s reins as if he feared he’d fall off his horse.

 

Then Archer shifted, ever so slightly, so that his lips brushed over Bennet’s fingers. He breathed, and then reached out the tip of his tongue and pressed it against the leather, and Bennet could feel the heat of it straight to his cock.

 

“Archer,” he said breathlessly. “Fuck…”

 

Archer’s breath was coming quickly. Bennet could feel it against the palm of his hand. Fuck, how much Bennet _wanted_ —

 

A bell gonged, very close to them. Archer jumped. Bennet’s horse, startled, took a few sideways steps, and Bennet let go of Archer to get him under control.

 

The clock tower, Bennet realized. It was the clock tower chiming.

 

“Nightfall,” Archer gasped. “It’s nightfall.” He dug his heels against Fritz, and the horse took off for the palace.

 

Bennet stayed in the middle of the street, willing his heart to stop pounding, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

 

Then he turned and spat at the nearest gaping townsperson, “Where the fuck is the nearest pub?”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nineteen

 

“What’s wrong?” Trix asked when he got back to the bedchamber, flushed and throbbing.

 

“Nothing,” he gasped. He had literally stopped to stuff snow down his collar in a futile effort to cool himself off.

 

“I think we overdid it,” Trix said. “You’re looking feverish.”

 

“Yes,” Archer said. “You’re right. I’m exhausted. Time for bed.”

 

“You haven’t eaten anything—”

 

“Another good point. Go find us something to eat. There you go. Thank you.” He steered Trix out of the room and closed the door—whoever had moved the chest was a genius—and sank down on the floor with his back to it and squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember every single detail of Bennet’s hand against his cheek, Bennet’s pale blue eyes burning into him, Bennet’s voice saying Archer’s name thickly, desperately, helplessly—

 

“Fuck,” Archer said, and bumped his head gently back against the door. In _public_? Bennet would have to have said those things to him in _public_? In private maybe, just maybe, Archer would finally have had the nerve to _do_ something, to kiss him, to touch him, to be touched. Archer, with Bennet’s hand on his cheek and Bennet’s eyes on him, had felt capable of _anything_.

 

“Fucking public street,” Archer muttered, and fell over sideways. “Idiot.”

 

Maybe he would be brave tomorrow, he thought. Bennet made him brave. And maybe Bennet would—Bennet wanted him for the science, not for Ava, so maybe Bennet would—maybe Bennet was interested—maybe it didn’t matter that Archer had been promised to Ava—maybe Archer could just stay here and be…whatever…to Bennet—that would work—that would definitely work, thought Archer.

 

The next day there was a message from an attendant that the King wished to start for the main palace as soon as possible, and how quickly could the Prince be ready to go?

 

Archer narrowed his eyes and said, annoyed, “Go and tell the King I’ll do whatever he wants. He’s the King, isn’t he?”

 

“Did you have a fight with him?” Trix asked, confused, when the messenger had left.

 

“Apparently,” Archer said. He should have known, of course, that he had gone too far on the street, that he would startle Bennet, embarrass him, make him hate him. Archer, the cleverest royal in generations, was such a colossal idiot.

 

They left the following morning, a large company of wagons drawn by mountain yaks and shaggy ponies. Archer rode Fritz, who he had found saddled and ready for him, and he had a stable boy devoted to him and several attendants, and that was all lovely, except for the fact that Bennet—no, _the King_ , thought Archer, viciously—stayed at the front of the procession, which was far enough away, because of the length of the procession, that Archer barely caught sight of his black horse, of his distinctive dark blue furs.

 

By the second day, Trix was convinced that Archer’s dark mood was because they were growing ever closer to the princess. She kept assuring Archer that the princess would be nice. Archer said, “If you don’t shut up about the princess, I’m going to throw my boot at your head,” which made Trix leave him alone in the stupid ridiculous Euphonian tent that had been set up for the night. Which, why they were sleeping in a _tent_ , when there was a perfectly good town within sight of the campsite, was thoroughly beyond Archer. Stupid Euphonians.

 

Archer tried to calm himself down by taking all of his Jadenvalian shoes out of one of his trunks and sitting on a fur on the cold hard ground and polishing them all until they gleamed. Lovely, lovely shoes, he thought. As soon as he got back to a palace, he was going to rid his poor feet of his horrible Euphonian boots and put proper shoes back on.

 

“Hi,” said a voice behind him, from the opening to the tent, and Archer froze, and then deliberately picked up another shoe to polish.

 

“Your Excellence,” he said lightly. “How are you this fine evening? Well?”

 

“How are _you_?” Bennet countered, and Archer hated that he still thought of him as Bennet.

 

“I’m polishing shoes,” Archer said primly, and breathed on the patent leather.

 

“I can see that. Is there a reason for that?”

 

“If you’re looking for Trix,” said Archer, “she’s not here.”

 

“Why would I be looking for Trix?”

 

“Because I can’t imagine why you’d be looking for me,” replied Archer.

 

There was a moment of silence. “Okay,” Bennet allowed. “I deserved that.”

 

“How gracious of you, to admit I might be _right_.”

 

“That’s a big step for a king,” said Bennet. “Can I come in?”

 

“Why?”

 

“So I can grovel properly. I’ve been practicing.”

 

“Hmph,” said Archer, and tried to pretend he wasn’t curious.

 

Bennet came into the tent and sat across from Archer. He watched silently as Archer kept polishing his shoes.

 

Archer finished polishing his shoes. Archer counted his shoes. Archer told Bennet, “I have seventeen pairs of shoes.”

 

Bennet said, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. There are more in other chests.”

 

“Archer.” Bennet reached out and put a hand on Archer’s ankle, because Archer had his leg sprawled out, within easy distance of Bennet.

 

Archer stared at the hand on his ankle. Granted, Bennet’s hand was gloved, and Archer was wearing the ridiculous number of layers necessary in Euphonia. But _still_.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bennet said, forcing Archer’s eyes up to his. “I’m…wrong-footed with you. I’m always…You’re never what I expect, you’re never…Come to dinner.”

 

Archer shook his head.

 

“Not like that,” Bennet said, and shifted, crawling across the distance between them. Archer stared at him in shock. “Not like that. Just us. Just us. Please.” He leaned his forehead against Archer’s and blew out a breath, his gloved hand resting on the back of Archer’s neck. “If you won’t…If you won’t come to dinner, could you just say my name for me? I just wanted you to…I wanted so much for you to…”

 

“Bennet,” Archer said uncertainly, with no idea what was going on.

 

Bennet shuddered. Archer felt it against him. “Fuck,” he said shakily. “Yes. Please. I didn’t…I didn’t remember it clearly, when you did it before, and I wanted to…”

 

“Bennet,” said Archer, concerned now.

 

“Thank you,” Bennet said, as if Archer had given him the most amazing gift. “ _Thank you_.”

 

“Are you alright?” Archer asked.

 

Bennet laughed humorlessly. “No, I’m not alright. _Look_ at me.” Bennet drew back, but he was close enough that Archer’s entire world was the pale blue expanse of Bennet’s eyes, like falling head-first into the sky. “I’ve missed you. I’ve _missed_ you. So fucking much. Archer…” Bennet, his hands cupping the back of Archer’s head, leaned forward and kissed him.

 

Archer made a sound of deep, pure surprise.

 

Bennet kissed and kissed in fervent little sips against Archer’s lips and then drew back and said, “Fuck, what am I doing? Fuck,” but kept pressing kisses over Archer’s face. “Please come to dinner. Just an hour, Archer. Just give me an hour of you. Fuck, I’ve _missed_ you.” He didn’t stop kissing him as he talked, mumbling the words into every inch of skin he could reach.

 

Archer closed his eyes and lifted up his hands and closed them in Bennet’s messy hair, the same way he had the very first morning he’d met him. “You idiot,” he said. “You ridiculous idiot. I’ve been _right here_.”

 

Bennet made a sound that was either a laugh or a sob and said, “ _Archer_ ,” and kissed him, and this was no desperate frantic sip of a kiss, this was a gulp. Or an entire cool glass of lemonade on a hot Jadenvalian terrace of a kiss.

 

 _You’re kissing him_ , Archer thought to himself, hands in Bennet’s hair, tongue in Bennet’s mouth, body framed by Bennet’s body pressing him against the chest of shoes. _He’s kissing you_.

 

Archer had no idea how long they kissed. It was long enough for the kiss to stop feeling panicked and start feeling luxurious. It was long enough for Bennet to recover himself and find a rhythm to his kiss, coaxing a groan out of Archer. It was long enough for Bennet’s hand, still gloved, to start tugging at Archer’s first layer of furs.

 

It was long enough for someone outside the tent to call inside, “Excellence?”

 

“Fuck,” Bennet mumbled into Archer’s mouth, and then pulled back. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there in a second.” He dropped his head against Archer’s shoulder and panted against Archer’s neck and murmured again, “Fuck.”

 

Archer pushed his hands through Bennet’s hair and leaned his head back against the chest.

 

“Come to dinner,” Bennet said. “Say you’ll have dinner with me.”

 

Archer wanted no part of a formal Euphonian dinner, even if it was the two of them. “Get out of your furs,” he said to Bennet.

 

“How very industrious of you,” Bennet said, “but there’s an attendant just outside this tent anxious to bow and beg my pardon.”

 

“No. I’ll go to dinner with you in town. But you’ve got to get rid of those ridiculous blue furs or everyone will know immediately who you are.”

 

Bennet lifted his head. “You want to go incognito in town? You think that will work?”

 

“Nobody knows who I am here. As for you, we’ll keep a hat over your head and your eyes down. If you’re wearing ordinary furs, we should be fine.”

 

Bennet said thoughtfully, “So you’re saying I shouldn’t wear my crown?”

 

“Idiot,” Archer said to him.

 

“What about my royal cloak?”

 

“Shut up,” Archer said.

 

“I will,” said Bennet, smiling as he kissed him again. “I will definitely—shut up—as much as you like.”

 

“Are you cunning enough to slip your entourage? Or are you going to need my help?”

 

“Oh, you don’t want me bringing attendants to our incognito assignation?”

 

“Get out of my tent,” said Archer. “You’re too stupid to be near me.”

 

Bennet kissed his cheek and winked at him and crawled out of the tent.

 

Archer threw a shoe after him. Just because. Just to hear him laugh as he walked away.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty

 

“I think I should come with you,” Trix said, watching Archer bundle himself up in all of the furs.

 

“I think you shouldn’t,” countered Archer. “And I’m still your boss.”

 

“I always went with you when you got drunk in seedy bars before.”

 

“Yes. And you always cramped my style.”

 

“I think that’s a good thing,” said Trix worriedly.

 

“Don’t wait up for me,” said Archer. “And don’t follow me. Go and have a fling with Felix.”

 

“What?” said Trix, blushing.

 

“Exactly,” said Archer, and winked at her as he walked away.

 

The sun was setting, the early Euphonian sunset Archer was starting to get used to. The bite of the cold would get worse after dark, but Archer assumed they would be inside by then. Surely the town would have a pub or two.

 

He deliberately did not look back at the camp as he walked to the edge of town. There was a fence along the edge of it, with a desultory guard boredly watching the people who were walking back and forth. Archer stood by the main gate and waited, and then Bennet said from behind him, “And what took _you_ so long? You didn’t even have to dodge anyone, or get a costume together?”

 

Archer turned to face him.

 

“Do you know how difficult it is for the King of Euphonia to procure non-blue furs?”

 

“Do you know how difficult it is for the King of Euphonia to remain anonymous when he keeps referring to himself as the King of Euphonia?” Archer countered.

 

Bennet grinned and said, “Come on. Let me buy you a drink.”

 

Bennet seemed to know the town, leading him readily to a middling bar that was crowded enough that they wouldn’t stand out too much.

 

“You’ve been here before,” Archer said.

 

“I love that you think this is the first time I’ve gone incognito,” Bennet said. “Go to the bar and order us two ales.”

 

Archer lifted an eyebrow at him.

 

“Well, if I go they’ll see my eyes, won’t they?” Bennet argued.

 

Archer went to the bar and got the ales and returned with them and said, “I told the waitress you have very foul breath I try not to inflict on others.”

 

“Charming,” said Bennet.

 

“It should get us left alone,” said Archer, and sat next to him and tried not to vibrate out of his skin with his excitement. This was a date, he thought. This was definitely a date.

 

As if to prove it, Bennet reached out and traced the curve of Archer’s ear before twisting a lock of his hair around his finger. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you without gloves on?” he asked, sounding amazed that it was happening. He drew his finger down the nape of Archer’s neck, then splayed his hand along Archer’s jaw.

 

Archer closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You could have done it much sooner,” he noted.

 

“Could I have?” asked Bennet, sounding interested. “Tell me. How long have you wanted me?”

 

“If you’re fishing for compliments, you’re out of luck,” Archer informed him primly.

 

Bennet smiled at him. “Cruel,” he said. “How cruel you are.” He leaned up and pressed a kiss underneath Archer’s jaw that made Archer entirely _melt_. Luckily, Bennet’s hand was at Archer’s back, keeping him upright. “In love kind words are birds on the ground.”

 

“What?” Archer said vaguely.

 

“It’s a poem we have here. Apparently written about you. Who knew?”

 

Archer looked at him. He looked young and flushed and happy. Archer thought not a single subject would recognize him. Archer thought those eyes were the farthest thing from ice blue he’d ever seen.

 

He said, “Are you alright?” because he’d been half-frightened by Bennet’s behavior in the tent earlier.

 

Bennet shook his head a little bit. Then he said, “You make me feel like I’m not me. The whole time…And here we are, getting closer and closer to the main palace, and I…want to not be me. And I’ve never wanted that before. I don’t think I knew that I could…be not me.”

 

“Is it a bad thing?” asked Archer. “Not being you?”

 

“No,” Bennet said. “At least, I don’t think so. At least, when I’m with you, the way I’m feeling right now…no. No, it’s the _best_ thing.”

 

Archer smiled at him. “I’ve looked for it my whole life.”

 

“What?”

 

“Not being me.”

 

“And did I help you find it?”

 

“No,” Archer said honestly. “You make me feel like being me is what I should have been looking for all along. Like being me is something wondrous and amazing. You make me want to be nothing other than exactly who I am.”

 

Bennet looked at him for a second. Then he said, “Do you know how to dance?”

 

Archer listened to the music, which was not anything he recognized. “Not this dance. Jadenvalian dances.”

 

“Let me teach you,” Bennet said, and stood and offered his hand.

 

Archer took it and let Bennet push them into place along the line of dancers. He winked at him, and then he danced with him, hands on his waist, nudging him along to the steps when Archer would have gone the wrong way. It had been a long time since Archer had danced, and he had never danced with another man, but nobody in the pub looked twice at them. Bennet laughed with delight as he twirled Archer through the steps, his color high, boyish and exuberant, dipping him low toward the filthy floor of the pub for the last beat of the song.

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” murmured Archer, hands in Bennet’s hair, and Bennet laughed and pulled Archer up to standing.

 

The music shifted to something much slower, and Bennet shifted his hold on Archer, pulling him much closer.

 

“Won’t people…” Archer trailed off, uncomfortably aware just how close they were. Were Archer a woman, no one would have glanced twice at them, but for two men…

 

“No.” Bennet’s hands swept up Archer’s sides and then back down to his hips. “Do they mind this in Jadenvale? We’re not like that here. No one will notice. We don’t care how the couples for dancing are composed. Any sort of dancing.”

 

“Oh,” said Archer, amazed. Bennet’s hand was at the small of his back, holding him steady as he executed a quick pivot step at the same time as the other couples on the floor. This was a tricky closely choreographed dance, but Bennet’s court training had apparently served him well with folk dances.

 

Bennet shifted behind Archer, tipped his head back against his shoulder, drew his hand down Archer’s chest, a move all of the other dancers were also engaged in. The dances in Euphonia, Archer thought hazily, trying to keep himself upright, were…

 

“Let yourself go,” Bennet murmured into Archer’s ear. “You’re supposed to. I’ve got you.” Bennet shifted around to Archer’s front, his hands splayed along Archer’s back, and he _did_ have him, which was good, because the next step in the dance was for Bennet to crouch and then, holding Archer’s eyes, make his way fluidly back up the front of Archer’s body.

 

Archer caught him as he came back up, kept him still with a hand in his collar, panted heavily into Bennet’s open mouth. “Take me somewhere,” Archer begged him. “Take me _anywhere_.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-One

 

“So,” said Bennet, standing in the middle of a small and sparsely furnished room. “Here you find the King of Euphonia and the Only Prince of Jadenvale.”

 

Archer had made it no farther than a couple of steps into the door. He took his eyes from the bed to Bennet and said, “Do you? I thought you found Archer and Bennet.”

 

Bennet, shedding furs and layers as he came, walked over to Archer, backed him up against the door, looked down at him, his pupils so wide they practically drowned it the clear blue of his irises. If he’d looked like that when he’d rented the room, Archer thought, no one would have recognized him.

 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Archer admitted, his voice hushed, hoping it wasn’t too ridiculous a thing to say.

 

“Fuck,” said Bennet, and drew his finger down Archer’s cheek. “That was going to be my line.” And then he pinned him against the wall and kissed him.

 

The way Bennet kissed was all-encompassing and all-consuming. He kissed as if he had picked Archer up and shook him upside-down. He made Archer _lose_ his _mind_ with how much he _wanted_.

 

“Touch me,” Archer said, scrambling at all of the _stupid Euphonian layers_. “I need you to touch me—” Bennet’s hand found skin, settled warmly over Archer’s ribcage, and Archer sighed in pleasure and arched into his touch.

 

“Tell me what else,” Bennet mumbled into the skin beneath Archer’s jaw, “you bossy Jadenvalian.” His fingers dipped briefly below the waistline of Archer’s pants.

 

“You’re getting there,” Archer managed breathlessly, and then almost crumbled bonelessly to the ground when Bennet bit his collarbone.

 

“Ah,” said Bennet, pleased, catching him. “You liked that, did you?” He dragged him upward, and the friction made Archer sob and catch his legs around Bennet’s waist, pulling him in.

 

Bennet hissed out a swear and pressed him even harder against the wall, chasing to get them lined up as he thrust against him.

 

“Fuck,” said Archer desperately, squirming at the torture of the angle through his pants. “Get your hands on me.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Bennet said into his ear. “I think you need a second, don’t you?”

 

“What? No, I—” Bennet’s hand pressed against the ache of Archer’s erection, under his pants, against the fabric of his underwear. “ _Bennet_ ,” Archer pleaded.

 

“Yes. Better. Nice. My name like that.” Bennet’s hand teased, his fingers danced. “Say it again, just like that.”

 

“Bennet,” said Archer, out of his _mind_ with need for him. “ _Please_.”

 

“How much do you want me, Archer?” Bennet asked in his ear. “My hand around you? My mouth around you? Tell me.”

 

“Bennet,” said Archer, thrusting against Bennet’s hand, even as Bennet took it away, torturing him. “You’re killing me.”

 

Bennet’s hands pinned Archer’s hands against the door, by his shoulders. “How long have you wanted me? Did you lay in my own bed, touching yourself, dreaming of me? How good did you imagine I’d feel? Is it better now? Tell me: Is it better?”

 

“Bennet,” said Archer, arching his hips desperately, trying to get friction somewhere, anywhere. “Your _voice_.”

 

“Do you like my voice?” asked Bennet, relentless. “I bet I could make you come untouched, couldn’t I?”

 

Archer groaned, because he wasn’t completely sure that Bennet wasn’t right there.

 

Bennet took one of Archer’s hands and closed it around his cock and stroked up into it and said into Archer’s ear, “Fuck, you feel good. Fuck, you feel _amazing_.”

 

And Archer, Archer who had just been desperate to be touched himself, Archer with a hand free, stroked Bennet instead, watched Bennet’s eyes flutter closed, felt Bennet’s hips stutter disjointedly.

 

“ _You_ tell _me_ ,” Archer managed. “How badly do you want me?”

 

Bennet’s eyes flew open. Panting harshly, he closed a hand around Archer and stroked.

 

“Archer,” Bennet said, his eyes close and intent. “Archer, Archer, _Archer_.”

 

And probably Bennet came at that point but Archer wouldn’t know because Archer was busy being launched into the stars.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

“Do you know what we should do?” Bennet said.

 

“Nothing,” said Archer sleepily. “We should do nothing.”

 

Bennet laughed. “We should take advantage of that bed I paid a fair amount of money for.”

 

Archer opened an eye and regarded the bed. “It seems very far away.”

 

Bennet laughed again. “You got yourself over the Graveyard all by yourself. I bet you can make it to the bed.” He stood and offered a hand to Archer.

 

Archer let himself be dragged up and over to the bed, where he sprawled out. “Better than a tent,” Archer said. “Why do you insist on camping instead of staying in town?”

 

“We’d disrupt everything, taking over the town,” Bennet said. “I try not to do that.” He planted a kiss on Archer’s spine, slowly moved his way up until he got to his hairline. “These adorable spots on your skin. They’re daring me to kiss every one of them.”

 

“They’re called freckles. They’re common in Jadenvale. And I have quite a lot of them. When do we have to get back?”

 

“You can sleep if you like,” Bennet said, moving to lay next to him.

 

“Not what I asked,” said Archer, and reached out to trace the line of Bennet’s collarbone.

 

“Why are you here?” Bennet asked.

 

Archer lifted an eyebrow at him. “You commanded me to be here, remember?”

 

Bennet shook his head. “Not here in Euphonia. _Here_.”

 

Archer settled his head on his pillow and looked across at Bennet, considering. Then he murmured, “Because you asked. And I wanted.”

 

“If I’d known you were in Jadenvale all this time, I would have asked for you so much earlier,” Bennet said. “I would have said to your sister, ‘Queen Alexandra, do you happen to have a devastatingly gorgeous dark-eyed brother who will bewitch me with his obstinate impossible nature?’”

 

“She doesn’t know,” Archer said, “About me.”

 

Bennet propped himself up on his elbow. “I think you mean that in a very literal way, but it’s truer than you know in so many ways. I can’t believe she just let you go. I’d have started a war over you.”

 

Archer snorted. “She thought you would.”

 

“Now I definitely would. I’d send men to their deaths for you. I’d send _me_ to my death for you.”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Archer said, embarrassed.

 

“Is it really like that in Jadenvale?” Bennet asked. “That if you were with a man, your sisters would be upset?”

 

Archer shook his head. “I’m not in Jadenvale. I’m in Euphonia. Where it doesn’t matter. Right?”

 

“Right,” Bennet said reflectively. “Yes. Archer De Ventro. Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the most valuable item in the Euphonian treasury.”

 

“Charming,” said Archer. “Exactly the way to woo me: make me a very valued possession.”

 

“Worked so far,” said Bennet, with a smirk.

 

“That smugness is going to bite you in the ass,” said Archer.

 

“Really?” said Bennet. “Would it? I should be so lucky.”

 

“I don’t think you’re funny.”

 

“I think you’re hilarious.”

 

“You’re the only person who does,” said Archer.

 

“No, I’m not,” said Bennet. “But promise me you’ll always think me the handsomest of all your many admirers.”

 

“How can I?” asked Archer. “I don’t even consider you the handsomest _now_.”

 

Bennet laughed. “Liar. You told me I was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.”

 

“Oh, fuck,” said Archer, and buried his face in his pillow. “Forget I said that.”

 

“You say the most delicious things when I kiss them out of you,” remarked Bennet.

 

“I’ll get better at that,” said Archer. “I’m not quite used to being kissed.”

 

“You don’t make me think very favorably of Jadenvale.”

 

“We wear less clothing there,” said Archer.

 

“That _is_ a point in its favor,” agreed Bennet.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

Trix wasn’t in the tent when Archer got back. Archer, yawning, crawled under piles of furs and curled into a ball and slept like the dead. He woke to Trix shaking him awake and mumbling something about fucking Euphonians being early risers. Archer dressed in his layers of furs and swung himself into Fritz’s saddle.

 

“Hello, you,” Bennet said, trotting up to him.

 

Archer gave him a dazzling smile. He couldn’t help it. “Hi.”

 

Trix looked between them, eyes narrowed.

 

“How would you like to get to the main palace ages before everyone else?” Bennet asked him.

 

“How will I accomplish that?” Archer asked.

 

“By following along in my wake,” said Bennet, and then took off at a flying gallop.

 

“He always _cheats_ ,” Archer complained, and took off after him.

 

It was a relief to pick up the pace after the plodding of the mountain yaks for so long. Even when the horses had to slow to wend their way carefully up steeper parts of the trail, Archer felt like they were making proper progress. Bennet pointed out landmarks to him, but everything looked vaguely the same to Archer, covered in snow as it was.

 

“So the snow never melts, right?” he verified, the horses now practically swimming in snowbanks up to their bellies.

 

Bennet shook his head. “In fact, I can never remember the trails being as easily passable as they are now. The main palace was designed as a fortress.”

 

“Against who? Who would attack you? You’re in the fucking middle of nowhere.”

 

Bennet laughed. “It was built long before anyone can remember. Who knows who they were worried about? Maybe they were just a fearful people.”

 

The shadows were growing long, and Archer felt as if unknown animals were growling somewhere from the close forests of trees along either side of him. He said, “I could see that.”

 

“We’re almost there,” Bennet said. “And anyway, Fritz could definitely outrun a many-toothed double-headed mammoth.”

 

“A _what_?” said Archer.

 

Bennet grinned at him.

 

“Prick,” Archer muttered, but he glanced back over his shoulder anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

The Main Palace of Euphonia looked like nothing more than a flat gray wall set into a snow covered cliff. It didn’t look much like a place Archer wanted to call home, honestly, but he tried not to be too obvious about that, because Bennet was clearly pleased to see it. He led them through an opening in the wall that Archer would never have noticed, and suddenly it was much warmer. Archer let out his breath in relief, feeling his shoulders start to relax.

 

They were in some sort of inner courtyard, and it was a hive of activity, and people immediately began running over and bowing low at Bennet. Bennet slid off of his horse and tossed the reins to someone and said, “The rest of the caravan is somewhere behind us. Maybe as much as half a day. This is the Only Prince of Jadenvale.”

 

People began bowing at the waist at Archer and someone took Fritz’s reins and said, “I’ll take him, Eminence,” and Archer found himself bustled inside to another vast and windowless room.

 

“Don’t worry,” Bennet said. “The rooms on the other side have windows.” He gestured to a woman nearby who came over and bowed low. “Margot, meet the Only Prince of Jadenvale. Archer, this is Margot. Margot will get you settled.”

 

“Okay,” said Archer doubtfully. “But I don’t need to be—”

 

“Get settled,” Bennet said. “I’ll stop by to see you later. But it was a long journey, and you’ll be relieved to be out of your furs.”

 

Margot bowed low as Bennet strode off.

 

Archer looked after him, and felt lonely and bewildered and abandoned. Which wasn’t fair, because Bennet was King here and had been away a long time and he had responsibilities and Archer was always wanting monarchs to make him their top priority when they had other things to worry about.

 

So Archer turned to Margot and tried a smile on her and let her lead him to a large set of rooms that, true to Bennet’s word, had windows.

 

“Begging your pardon, Eminence,” Margot said, bowing at the waist, “is there anything else I can get for you?”

 

“No,” Archer said. “When the caravan gets here, you can send my head of security to me.”

 

Margot bowed her head briefly, then left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

 

Archer looked around the outer sitting room he found himself in, then stepped over to the window. They were narrow windows, not the wide gracious windows of Jadenvale, but at least they were windows. They showed a view of uninterrupted whiteness rising upward. The mountains apparently kept going up. Archer wondered if it was even possible to get to the end of the mountains.

 

Archer walked into the next room and drew up short. Because it was a laboratory. It had been outfitted with every piece of scientific equipment Archer could possibly have hoped for. Archer walked through it in amazement. Of course, this was why Bennet had called for him, because of his scientific expertise, but still, it was flattering to have his interest so indulged.

 

The next room along the hallway was a bedroom, large and roomy, with a bed and a wardrobe and a desk. On the desk was a note, identical on the outside to the first note Archer had ever received from Bennet. He must have sent this on ahead at some point. Archer broke the seal and opened it and said, _Hopefully it’s to your liking. Feel free to ask for anything we’ve missed. -B._

 

Archer frowned at the note, which seemed painfully impersonal to him after the events of the night before. Granted, it had probably been written before that, but Archer felt like allowing himself to be illogical.

 

He walked over to the wardrobe and opened it on a handsome set of clothing not quite Jadenvalian in style, but serviceable. Felix would probably be able to alter them effectively.

 

And then Archer, for lack of anything better to do, collapsed onto the bed.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

Bennet stood by the window in his inner study and looked at the snowscape looming over his head and tried not to panic.

 

He thought he was doing a terrible job.

 

There was a knock on the door behind him.

 

“Come in,” Bennet said, and turned from the window and flicked his cloak back and tried to act kingly.

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said Massimo, entering and bowing low.

 

“Hello, Massimo,” Bennet said, and sat behind his desk, ready to get to work.

 

“Welcome back,” said Massimo, and sat as well. He was one of the few advisors with such privileges. They spent too much time together not to have earned some. “It must be good to be home.”

 

Bennet didn’t think so. Bennet wanted to be somewhere else entirely. Bennet wanted to be with Archer somewhere else entirely, specifically. “Things look well,” said Bennet, instead of voicing any of that.

 

“They are, Excellence,” said Massimo, eyes shrewd on him. “You were longer than we expected.”

 

“The Prince was sooner than I expected,” said Bennet honestly.

 

“What’s he like?” asked Massimo curiously.

 

“Unexpected,” said Bennet.

 

“Good for Her Eminence or bad for Her Eminence?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” snapped Bennet.

 

Massimo blinked in surprise.

 

“Where is she, anyway? Didn’t want to give me a homecoming?”

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said Massimo carefully, “but she is still…resistant…to the idea of the Prince.”

 

“I am still resistant to _many_ things, Massimo,” said Bennet, exasperated. “The list of things I am resistant to would stretch to The End. There is no more time left for Ava’s fits of pique. Where is she?” Bennet scraped his chair back as he stood.

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellent,” said Massimo, “we can fetch her—”

 

“I’ll go to her,” said Bennet. “Is she in her chambers?”

 

Massimo bowed his head briefly in affirmation.

 

“ _So_ good to be home,” muttered Bennet as he swept out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

Ava, the Only Princess of Euphonia, was having her nails done when Bennet swept into her chambers.

 

“Hello, little sister,” he said.

 

“Hello, big brother,” she replied. “Back so soon? I thought you’d be gone longer.”

 

“I brought you a gift.”

 

“I heard. Kind of you, but unnecessary. You may send him back.”

 

“Out,” Bennet said to the woman working on Ava’s nails. “Out,” he said to the other attendants milling about. He said it mildly but seriously, and he was obeyed without question. _Remember when that used to happen?_ thought Bennet drily.

 

“Bennet,” Ava sighed.

 

“Enough,” he bit out. “We no longer have time for this.”

 

“Do you hear me when I speak? I’m not marrying him, Bennet.”

 

“You’ve never even _met_ him.”

 

“Exactly. It’s folly of the highest order, that you would—”

 

“Many things about this are folly of the highest order, Ava. He is not one of them.”

 

“Why did he even _come_?” complained Ava, picking up a goblet of water to sip. “You’d think he would’ve had more backbone than to—”

 

Bennet plucked the goblet out of Ava’s hand before he thought twice and tossed it into the fireplace, where it smashed into a million pieces.

 

Ava stared at it in shock, exclaiming, “Bennet!”

 

“I have brought you a _prince_ ,” Bennet informed her, seething. “He’s lovely. He’s a delight. He’s clever and kind and he’s much better than you deserve right now. Do you understand me?”

 

Ava blinked at him. Then she tipped her head and said slowly, thoughtfully, “Bennet…”

 

Bennet cut her off immediately. “You’re going to have dinner with him tonight. You’re going to be nice to him. You’re going to be _sweet_ to him. If you’re rude to him, if you hurt his feelings, I will hear of it, and I will not stand for it.”

 

“Bennet,” said Ava, sounding perplexed. “I mean, what the fuck, he’s some stranger from—”

 

“He’s a guest in this house. And he’s doing us a massive favor. And he deserves to be…He deserves a perfect princess. I know you know how to do this, Ava. Dazzle him. Make him want you. Make him want to marry you. I want him happy, do you hear me? I want him _ecstatic_. This place has to make him happy. We have to make him happy.”

 

Ava stared at him. Then she said, “Bennet. What the hell is going on?”

 

“Nothing,” Bennet said. “This is a new Euphonia. We’re learning hospitality.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

There was a knock on the door, the drawing room door, three rooms away.

 

“Who is it?” Archer called, assuming it would be Trix.

 

“Me,” Bennet called back.

 

Archer propped himself up on the bed, surprised. He had been convinced he’d be ignored much longer than this. “Come in.”

 

“Where are you?” Bennet asked.

 

“Bedchamber,” Archer called to him.

 

Bennet arrived in the doorway and arched an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever met a bed you didn’t want to lounge on attractively?”

 

Archer pretended to consider. “No.”

 

Bennet flickered a smile, but he seemed distracted. “Is it to your liking?”

 

Archer studied him closely, trying to determine his mood. He seemed almost…nervous. Which was odd, since they were finally in what should have been Bennet’s most familiar milieu, thought Archer. “It’s very nice. Is there something wrong, Bennet?”

 

“We have to talk about Ava,” Bennet said abruptly.

 

“Yes,” Archer said. “I assumed. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

 

Bennet brightened. “Oh, good. You’ll have dinner with her tonight.”

 

Which gave Archer pause. He said carefully, “Surely _we’ll_ be having dinner with her tonight?”

 

“No,” said Bennet. “Just you.”

 

“Where will you be?”

 

“You don’t want me at your first dinner with your future bride,” said Bennet, casually, as if that made any sense at all.  

 

“My what?” said Archer.

 

“Your future bride. You remember this, right? You’re promised to her.”

 

“I…But…” Archer shook his head. He felt fuzzy, as if he had pneumonia again, or Bennet’s hands on him. “What are you talking about?”

 

“She’s lovely,” Bennet went on. “Incredibly stubborn and difficult. You should get on tremendously well.”

 

“No. Bennet. What the fuck. Why would I marry Ava?”

 

“Because your parents—”

 

“No. Shut up.” Archer rolled off of the bed. “What are you _talking_ about? I told you I’d help you with the glacier situation. Fuck, do you not _realize_? Do you need it spelled out for you? I will stay here _forever_. Forget about the Ava thing—”

 

“She’s my sister. I can’t ‘forget’ her—”

 

“You want me to marry your sister? _Me_? After everything that—You think I could just—”

 

“What did you think would happen?” Bennet snapped.

 

“Not _that_. I thought I’d stay here and I’d help you and…and…” Archer’s mind flailed, trying to come up with a scenario that made sense. He felt completely off-kilter. He’d expected the marriage to Ava to be off the table. He’d stay in Euphonia, with Bennet, surely Bennet understood that; no cajoling was needed. Was Bennet nervous that Archer was going to start making unreasonable demands? Maybe, thought Archer. Maybe that was it. What could he say to appease him? “I know we can’t get married,” said Archer, trying to sound pragmatic about it. “I know you’d have to marry someone else eventually, probably, but I’d—”

 

“You’d what? You’d hover around at the edges of court life waiting for me to throw a glance your way?”

 

Archer flinched as if Bennet had reached out and slapped him. Put _that_ way, it…But surely Bennet wouldn’t…Unless Bennet didn’t…

 

Bennet didn’t seem to notice that Archer wanted him to stop talking so he could stop feeling assaulted by his words. Bennet kept talking. “And why would you do that? You’re always doing that, and it makes me furious when you do it. You’re always selling yourself short. Yes, you should want me to marry you! You should be demanding it! You should be having a fit over what a selfish prick I am that I would treat you like this when you—”

 

Archer shook his head, suddenly furious. It wasn’t fair for Bennet to _do_ this, to run so hot and cold, to cuddle and caress and then disappear, to change on a dime, to just _not make sense_. “What the fuck,” Archer spit out, “are you a _lunatic_? Are you even listening to yourself? You want me to demand that you marry me? Bennet, I’m just trying to get you to stop trying to force me to marry someone else! I’m trying to be sensible, and you’re being—”

 

“ _Sensible_? When do you ever do a _sensible_ thing?”

 

“Don’t do that,” Archer snapped at him. “Don’t pretend to know me. You can’t possibly know me if you think you can come here and order me around.”  

 

Bennet was silent for a moment, staring across at Archer. He was breathing hard, Archer realized suddenly, as if he’d been engaged in a furious exertion. Finally he tore his hand through his shaggy hair and then lifted it in Archer’s direction. “You’re marrying her, you’re promised to her, it’s the deal our parents struck, it’s the deal I struck with Alexandra—”

 

“Fuck _all_ of you,” Archer said, deadly calm. “Fuck every single one of you. I am not a pawn on your fucking playing board.”

 

“Yes,” Bennet agreed, looking oddly…relieved. Which didn’t make sense. “Exactly. That’s it. I am a terrible, opportunistic, horrible person using you to—and I need you to…I need you to…Fuck.” Bennet tore his hands through his hair again, tugged, looked down at the floor and took a deep ragged breath. “Fuck,” he said again, sounding exhausted.

 

Archer watched him for a moment. Then he said evenly, “Bennet. You’re going to tell me what’s going on or I’m going back to Jadenvale and yes, you would have to start a fucking war to get me back if I do that.”  

 

“Ava’s pregnant,” Bennet said to the floor around his feet.

 

Which was not at all what Archer had expected. Archer hadn’t expected a statement about Ava at all. “Ava’s what?” said Archer blankly.

 

“She’s pregnant, she…” Bennet looked up at Archer, blue eyes pleading. “I need you to marry her right away so that it can seem as if the baby is yours.”

 

“Ava’s _pregnant_?” said Archer, still caught on that little detail.

 

“Ava’s right here,” said a voice behind Bennet, “so we can stop talking about her in the third person.”

 

Bennet turned in the doorway, and Archer looked beyond him, at the woman who could only be Princess Ava.

 

“And my,” she said, “you two have an incredibly fascinating relationship going on here. Fill me in on all of the drama, I feel like I’ve missed so much.”

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

“You haven’t missed anything,” Bennet said stiffly.

 

“He calls you ‘Bennet,’” said Ava, as she slipped past him into Archer’s bedchamber. “Hello,” she said to him with a smile. “You must be Prince Archer.”

 

“You must be Princess Ava,” Archer responded uncertainly. Not uncertain of her identity—save for a lack of ice blue eyes, Ava looked remarkably like Bennet—but uncertain how he was supposed to behave around her and how her entry to this conversation affected…everything.

 

“That’s me,” said Ava. “And whatever he’s told you about me, ignore all of it. Except the pregnancy part of it. That’s true. My, what a lovely room. Beautifully appointed. What _are_ you up to here, Bennet?”

 

“Ava,” said Bennet, sounding long-suffering.

 

Ava was moving through the room, dragging her fingertips along the surfaces. “From what I can discern, you appear to be up to an enormous mistake. Oh, wait.” Ava lifted a fingertip to her lips instead, pretending to think. “You don’t make mistakes, do you?”

 

Archer glanced from her to Bennet.

 

Bennet’s gaze was stony and furious and still not at all _icy_. How, Archer wondered in amazement, did everyone get Bennet so incredibly wrong? Nothing about him was icy. Even when he was angry, it was a passionate hot anger, not a cold freezing one.

 

Bennet said between clenched teeth, “I’m glad you’re here, Ava.”

 

Ava looked almost amused. “Oh, are you?”

 

“Yes,” said Bennet. “Now you and Archer can get to know each other.”

 

“Do you actually understand me when I speak?” demanded Archer. “Is it my Jadenvalian accent?”

 

Bennet looked at Archer, and he didn’t look angry, he looked…sad, or desperate, or something. Archer wished he could understand what was going on in Bennet’s head. Bennet said to him, “I really think you’re going to like each other.”

 

“Bennet,” Archer said. He didn’t know what else he meant to say after that. He just meant to get Bennet to snap out of this weird fixation on Ava and Archer as a couple.

 

“They can have dinner brought to your room, actually, if you would prefer privacy.”

 

“For what?” Archer asked incredulously. “Why would we prefer privacy?”

 

Bennet lifted an eyebrow, and then he turned and strode away, his cloak snapping behind him.

 

“ _Bennet_ ,” Archer bit out, irritated, but Bennet didn’t even halt his stride.

 

Archer turned back to Ava, caught between being furious and embarrassed and heartbroken.

 

Ava said, “I have no doubt we’re going to like each other very much. Since we appear to both be people who love the King of Euphonia despite his idiocy. Now.” Ava arranged herself on Archer’s bed. “Why don’t you tell me how you came to fall in love with my imbecile of a big brother?”

 

“How did you come to be pregnant?” countered Archer, who didn’t feel like telling such a private story to someone he’d just met—even if he was supposed to be marrying her.

 

“Oh.” Ava laughed. “That has nothing to do with love. And the father doesn’t want anything to do with the baby. I think we could get all of that settled, easily. There’s no reason for these dramatics of Bennet’s; there will be no claim on the baby, no claim on the royal line, outside of our own.”

 

“His plan was that I’d never know, wasn’t it? He really thought I’d arrive here and I’d marry you and you’d magically get pregnant and the baby might be born a bit early and I would never know.”

 

“That was his plan,” agreed Ava. “That wasn’t his plan for _you_. I don’t think he expected you. He is very keen to make you happy, you know.”

 

Archer laughed in disbelief. “Is he? You could have fooled me.”

 

“I think he wants me to make you fall in love with me.”

 

“That isn’t going to happen,” said Archer, since Ava was the wrong sort for him entirely.

 

“Obviously not. You’re in love with him, as I said. That is obvious. And he’s in love with you. So how ridiculous would this be? I would marry a man forever pining after my brother, and my brother would forever pine after my husband, and can you imagine the family dinners? Our poor children, Archer.” Ava looked forlorn.  

 

“We’re not having children,” Archer said. “We’re not…We’ll just explain to him that we’re not getting married.”

 

“Because he’s so reasonable?”

 

“I’ll talk to him.”

 

“I think you’d better do something not involving talking. You’d have better luck,” said Ava knowingly.

 

“No,” Archer said miserably. “I think all I did was complicate everything with that.”

 

Ava said, “Did you mean what you said? About running back to Jadenvale?”

 

Archer thought of leaving. Archer thought of _home_. And then he thought of leaving _Bennet_. And then he thought of staying near Bennet and not having Bennet. He thought—really thought—of Bennet marrying someone else eventually. Probably a woman. He’d probably have children with her. And Bennet was right: there would be Archer, on the edges of court life, waiting desperately for Bennet to remember he was there.

 

Archer would have killed to go home only a week earlier. Now Archer didn’t know what he wanted. No—he knew what he wanted. He wanted Bennet. The problem was Bennet seemed like what he couldn’t want.

 

“I don’t know,” Archer admitted.

 

“If you go,” said Ava, “take me with you.”

 

Archer blinked at her. “What?”

 

“What am I going to do here? Raise my baby amidst all of the rumor and gossip and speculation, with Bennet frowning at me thunderously at every turn? I could go to Jadenvale and I could start over. No one would know who I was. It would be _glorious_.”

 

Archer recognized the dreamy quality to Ava’s voice, that longing to be anyone but who you were. Archer had finally been happy being Archer. Maybe, he thought, it was time to go back to Jadenvale, back to real life, back to…wanting more.

 

Back to another place he’d never belonged.

 

Archer looked out the window, at the unfamiliar whiteness of the land all around him. He thought of sun-kissed breezes and the scent of jasmine. He said again, “I don’t know. Let me talk to Bennet. I feel like I could…Let me talk to Bennet.”

 

Ava rose from the bed and walked over to Archer and cupped a hand around his cheek. It was a fond touch, a sister’s touch, and Archer suddenly missed Alice and Alexandra fiercely, suddenly wanted to go home _desperately_.

 

Ava said, “You’re sweet. You’d make him happy. It’s why he’ll never let himself have you. Monarchs can’t be happy.” Ava kissed Archer’s cheek and left his bedchamber.

 

“Why do monarchs _think_ that?” Archer asked the empty room.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

Archer wanted to curl up on the bed and feel sorry for himself, but he didn’t let himself. That would accomplish nothing. What he needed to do was talk to Bennet, was explain to Bennet…what? Archer had no idea. How he felt? How did Bennet not _know_?

 

It was suddenly inexcusable to him that Bennet didn’t know.

 

Archer put his diadem on top of his head, frowned at his own thunderous reflection, and left his chambers, finding Margot waiting in the corridor.

 

“Take me to the King,” Archer commanded.

 

“Begging your pardon, Eminence,” Margot bowed at the waist to him, “but he’s not to be disturbed.”

 

“He’s not to be disturbed,” Archer repeated flatly.

 

Margot bowed her head briefly.

 

“Well, fuck that. He doesn’t get to make a complete disaster of my life and then go on _holiday_. Bennet!” Archer shouted.

 

Margot stared at him.

 

Archer walked down the corridor, shouting. “Bennet! Bennet!”

 

Guards came out of alcoves and side corridors, clearly trying to ascertain his threat level.

 

Archer kept stalking down the corridor, shouting, a growing army of uncertain guards behind him, until he finally came upon an entire wall of guards blocking access to a door and Archer thought, _Bingo_.

 

“Bennet!” Archer shouted.

 

The door opened and closed and an attendant came out, older, steel gray in his hair. He looked narrow eyed at Archer and said sarcastically, “Begging your pardon, Eminence—”

 

“Shut up,” Archer said. “Go back in there and get him for me.”

 

The attendant said nothing.

 

Archer sighed and said, “Fine. I’ll get him myself.” He took a step toward the door, only to be met by a number of guns and swords and spears being leveled at him. Archer almost laughed. “Go ahead,” he said. “Lay a finger on me. I don’t think he’ll be too happy with you.”

 

They clearly suspected enough about what was going on to hesitate.

 

Which was when Bennet emerged from the door. He glared at Archer but he said to the guards, “It’s fine. Stand off him. I’m going to behead him myself, have no fear. Get in here,” he snapped at Archer, and stepped back from the door.

 

“‘Eminence’ is the proper term of address, I’m told,” Archer informed him as he stepped into the room.

 

Bennet slammed the door behind them. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“I’m leaving,” Archer spat out, which wasn’t what he had intended to say but was suddenly crystal-clear to him.

 

Bennet blinked and said, sounding slightly strangled, “What?”

 

“I’m leaving. I’m going back to Jadenvale. I’m not staying here to—”

 

“Archer,” said Bennet. “You can’t. You have to stay and help Ava—”

 

“Is that what you thought? That you’d be able to guilt me into—”

 

“I didn’t think I’d have to guilt you. That was the _agreement_. And you came here so I thought you’d—”

 

“But that was before, Bennet!” shouted Archer. “That was before _everything_! How can you really expect me to still marry Ava? How can you still _want_ that?”

 

“I want it more now that I know you’re you,” Bennet said. “Listen to me. You’ll like Ava—”

 

“I am not going to fall in love with your sister. Even if that was how I worked, I can’t believe you think I would be so fickle as to—”

 

“I’m not saying you’ll fall in love with her. I’m saying you’ll get along with her, and that’s more than most royal marriages can—”

 

“No,” Archer said. “I’m not—”

 

“She’s going to have a baby and you’d be a marvelous father, you’d love this baby—”

 

“That’s not—what does that have to do with—”

 

“I’m telling you,” Bennet said. “You’d be _happy_.”

 

“I wouldn’t have _you_ ,” cried Archer, which was the crux of the whole matter.

 

“Yes, you would.” Bennet walked up to him, his voice low and urgent, and Archer wanted to step back, step away, gain space, but he couldn’t move. “You would, of course you would. How can you doubt? Of course you would. You’d be here, at the palace, at court, and you’d have me whenever you want me, whenever, Archer, always—”

 

Archer shook his head. “It’d be at the edges of court life. Like you said.”

 

“I wouldn’t let you be. And not if you were Ava’s husband. You’d be of central importance and we’d spend so much time together and I’d have you and you’d have me and the baby would have this spectacular family around him or her or it or them or whatever the baby turns out to be. Don’t you see? What we can give the baby? Together?”

 

“But what of Ava? Do you think it’s fair for Ava to be married to a man in love with her _brother_?”

 

Bennet looked at him. Then he said, “Are you in love with me?”

 

“Don’t make fun of me for it, Bennet,” Archer said swiftly. “Don’t you _dare_.”

 

“I would never,” said Bennet. “I just mean that…you should stay. We could have everything. Just stay, hmm?”

 

Archer looked across at him and was tempted, because there was a time when he would have been content with this. A man willing to give him the time of day, a man who wanted him to stay. Archer would have sold his soul for that.

 

But Bennet was right: It wasn’t enough. It was Archer selling himself short. Archer didn’t just want a man willing to give him the time of day. Archer wanted Bennet, all of him, the entirety of him. Archer wanted Bennet to say, _Yes, I’m in love with you, too_. Archer wanted Bennet to want him the way Archer wanted him, forever, for the rest of their lives.

 

And if Archer couldn’t get that, he wasn’t settling for less.

 

“Why do you think that would be everything?” Archer asked softly.

 

Bennet looked surprised. “What?”

 

“Why do you settle for so little? It makes you so angry when I do it, and you stand here before me and I know that you want me, I know that you do, so why not ask me to stay, on your terms, on the terms you want, without the palace machinations, without the subterfuge? Don’t be King, just be Bennet. And ask me to stay.”

 

Bennet licked his lips. “I _am_ asking you to stay.”

 

Archer shook his head. “No. Bennet. Just ask me to stay here with you. Forget about the rest of it. Just ask me to stay.”

 

Bennet made an anguished sound. “You think this is so simple. You don’t know—”

 

“All my life,” Archer realized, “I’ve had monarchs not love me enough. Not love me more than crowns. I’m always so distant in their lives. They never ask me what I want. They write me off as confusing and unexpected and they never just say to me, ‘Archer, what do you want?’”

 

“Archer, what do you want?” asked Bennet.

 

“I want to be happy,” said Archer, because he _did_ , so desperately. “And I don’t know what that looks like yet. But I know what it feels like. And it doesn’t feel like this.”

 

“Tell me what to say to you,” said Bennet.

 

But Archer shook his head. Because Archer wanted him to _know_. “When you came to me, that night in my tent, when I was polishing my shoes. You asked for an hour with me. An _hour_. Why would you ask for an hour, Bennet? Why wouldn’t you ask for the rest of my life? Why, you silly King, do you sell yourself short?” Archer cupped a hand around Bennet’s cheek and leaned forward and kissed the other cheek carefully. He left his nose there against Bennet’s skin, just for a moment, just to breathe him in one last time.

 

“Archer,” said Bennet, and grabbed for him.

 

Archer took a careful step back. “You say you’d start a war for me. But I don’t want a war. I don’t want a king. I wanted…I wanted you.”

 

“But I’m the King. I can’t change who I am,” said Bennet. “It’s so impossible of you. That’s what you said to me the second time you spoke to me, you know. You were delirious with fever and you looked at me and you told me that I was impossible. And it’s true. You don’t want me. You want the not-me, and it’s not possible, Archer. It isn’t.”

 

“You’re wrong,” said Archer sadly. “But you’re the King, so you’ll never see it.” Archer reached up and lifted his diadem off of his head and put it carefully onto Bennet’s. It looked delicate in the tempestuous cowlicks of Bennet’s hair, and Archer felt that suited it. The delicacy of falling in love, Archer thought. The delicacy of having a happy life in your grasp and having it fall away from you. The delicacy of arguing at cross-purposes, of loving a man who didn’t see himself, of _being_ a man who had such difficulty seeing himself. “I’m leaving,” Archer said evenly. “Do not stop me.”

 

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving his diadem on Bennet’s head.

 

He did not look back.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty

 

Archer was surprised to find Trix in his room when he got back. And Trix was _unpacking_.

 

“Put it all back,” Archer said, and started throwing clothes back into the trunks.

 

“What?” Trix said, staring at him.

 

“We’re going home,” Archer said shortly.

 

“We’re…what?”

 

“We’re going home. Right now. Immediately. We’re not staying here another minute.”

 

“But we just got here, sir.”

 

“And now we’re leaving. What is not to understand about this, Trix?”

 

“What happened?” Trix asked, sounding concerned. “You seemed so happy. You _were_ so happy.”

 

Archer squeeze his eyes shut and shook his head and said, “We have to go, Trix. I can’t stay here.”

 

“Okay,” Trix said, and did something she had never done before. She stepped forward and enfolded him in a hug.

 

Archer choked out a laugh against Trix’s shoulder and hugged her back tightly. “The Euphonians would faint if they saw us.”

 

“I wanted so much to believe he wouldn’t hurt you,” was what Trix said.

 

“It was stupid of me,” Archer said into her neck. “What was I expecting? That the King of Euphonia would marry _me_?”

 

“Why not?” asked Trix. “Why wouldn’t he? He’d never do better than you.”

 

“You’re biased,” Archer said, and straightened with a deep breath. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’re going home. We’re going to start over. Start fresh. Maybe we’ll go away, on a boat this time, a sea voyage. I’ve always wanted to do that. I should have asked for that from the beginning.”

 

“Is he letting you leave? The King? Or do we need to sneak out?”

 

“I think he’ll let me leave,” Archer said. “I don’t think he would dare stop me. But there is someone we’re going to have to sneak out.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-One

 

Ava’s door was opened by an attendant who looked at him curiously and carried his title back to her mistress and then Archer was granted entrance.

 

“I hear you had quite the discussion with Bennet,” remarked Ava. “How’d that go?”

 

“I didn’t get Bennet, but I think I got myself,” said Archer. “I would have preferred both, of course.”

 

“Life’s a bitch,” sighed Ava.

 

“We don’t know each other very well,” Archer said.

 

“Come now,” said Ava. “Don’t be like that. We were going to be married!”

 

“But Bennet seems to think we’d get along,” continued Archer.

 

“We’re youngest children in annoying monarchies who were raised by much older siblings more preoccupied with their thrones. Yes,” said Ava. “We’d probably get along.”

 

“So do you want to see Jadenvale?” asked Archer.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” said Ava.

 

Archer had Ava pack hastily. He refused to even allow her to tell any of her attendants.

 

“You mean I’m going to have to brush my own hair on this journey?” said Ava. “How will I manage?” But then she grinned at him, so Archer thought it might all just work out.

 

And then he made her leave Bennet a note, hoping that maybe he would worry less with an explanation. Ava sat at her desk to compose the letter. Archer didn’t ask to read it and assumed it said what needed to be said.

 

Ava did ask him if he wanted to add his own note to the bottom. Archer hesitated, and then wondered what else he could say. He’d said everything he could think of to say.

 

“No,” he said, and shook his head, and watched Ava seal the message and leave it in the center of her bed. The name she’d scrawled on the front was _The King_ , and Archer thought that seemed oddly appropriate, for it to be his title instead of his name.

 

Ava bundled herself up in non-royal furs and they left together out of the door Archer had arranged with Trix.

 

“It’s amazing,” Trix enthused when Archer stepped outside. “The caravan has been ever so cooperative this time around. It’s night and day. We’ve got a whole _wagon_ to ourselves.”

 

“Excellent,” said Archer. “Trix, this is Ava. Ava, this is Trix.”

 

“I hear we’re going on an adventure,” said Ava.

 

“Really just a long tedious journey in this freezing landscape, sir,” said Trix.

 

Ava laughed.

 

“Trix, you really know how to sell an experience,” remarked Archer. “You should go into marketing.”

 

And just like that, in the oddest manner possible, Archer felt like he regained a family. Ava was a little prickly, a little suspicious, and Archer would never have described her as sweet or even lovely. But she was clever and she wasn’t cruel, and Archer appreciated that she didn’t give him soft sympathetic looks over his broken heart the way Trix kept doing.

 

Trix, for her part, was clearly somewhat bewildered by Ava, who was so unlike Alice and Alex, but they seemed to get along after a while. Ava had to stay hidden in the wagon, and that made her miserable, but Trix passed the time teaching her every single Jadenvalian word game she could remember.

 

“The Prince can do sleight of hand,” Trix told Ava.

 

“Can you, Archer? Teach us!”

 

Archer was sitting in the back of the wagon, looking at the mountain behind which was the main palace, thinking of Bennet. Teaching Trix and Ava sleight of hand was a much better idea, he thought.

 

They reached the Graveyard and began carefully trundling across it. It was a much easier journey in the back of a wagon, wrapped in proper Euphonian furs.

 

Trix though the same thing. “I thought I’d never feel my fingers again,” she remarked.

 

“Did you cross this on your own?” asked Ava, amazed. “Without _furs_? How did you survive?”

 

“The Prince almost didn’t. He got pneumonia. He fainted in your brother’s arms.”

 

“Thank you, Trix, for that very dignified retelling of our first meeting,” said Archer drily, from where he was huddled under his furs. It was nighttime; they were supposed to be sleeping.

 

“I think it’s very romantic,” Ava told him.

 

Archer snorted. “What does it matter? It had a stupid ending.”

 

“Endings are the tricky part,” Ava said. “Anyone can have a good beginning. I’ve had hundreds of good beginnings.”

 

“Hundreds?” said Trix.

 

“Okay, maybe not _hundreds_. Dozens, though. I’m _very_ good-looking. You may have noticed.”

 

It was Trix’s turn to snort.

 

“Aren’t we supposed to be sleeping?” Archer said. “I thought we were supposed to be sleeping.”

 

Trix and Ava fell silent.

 

Archer looked out over the blanket of stars that lit up Euphonia’s snowscape beyond their wagon. The snow was beginning to give way to jagged rock. Soon it would be gone altogether, and just like that Euphonia would be nothing but a memory, a memory that would fade eventually to the uncertain dream-like quality of his memories of his parents.

 

Ava said softly, settling next to him on the edge of the wagon, “I think you’re very brave.”

 

“I thought you were sleeping,” Archer said.

 

“Bennet tried to make me go to Jadenvale, you know, and I wouldn’t. I was too scared. What if you turned out to be a horrible ogre? I made him bring you here instead. Mostly because I thought you would never come, and there’d just be a stalemate, and Bennet would give up. And look what I started.”

 

“I can’t imagine you scared of anything,” Archer said in amazement, because Ava struck him as fearless.

 

“Oh, I’m terrified of lots of things. Especially this baby. I’m going to be a horrible mother.”

 

“I’m sure you’re not,” Archer said loyally.

 

“No, I am. I’m too selfish to…I love this baby, but I’m just going to be a terrible mother. I feel like it’s important to be honest about these things. It’s probably half of why Bennet thought I should get married.”

 

“I’ll help,” Archer said after a moment.

 

“Bennet’s right about you. You’re very kind.” Ava kissed his cheek, then laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s funny, we probably would have suited each other marvelously, if you weren’t in love with my brother, and if I weren’t the sort of person who only falls in love with inappropriate people.”

 

“It’s okay,” Archer said. “This is better. We can suit each other without getting married. That should always have been an option.”

 

“I wish we’d known each other earlier,” Ava said.

 

“We know each other now. It’s enough.”

 

“I know it broke your heart and everything but I’m glad you came to Euphonia.”

 

“Me, too. It probably sounds odd but I…I’m glad I met him. I’m glad I knew him. I’m glad he…I was so lonely, for so long, and I’ll probably be lonely again but right now I feel grateful that he made me realize that being me is…a good thing to be. Is enough, maybe. Enough to demand that someone love me desperately. Does that sound selfish enough for you?”

 

“I think it sounds like the dream,” said Ava. “Being loved desperately. He does love you. He loves the way they do, by being very, very bad at admitting it, very, very bad at showing you.”

 

“Yeah,” sighed Archer. “I’m aware.”

 

“Did you really swoon into his arms the first time you met him?”

 

“I think I insulted him a little bit first.”

 

“Good. That’s my Archer,” said Ava, and Archer laughed.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Two

 

They reached The End, and Archer sent Trix to buy them passage on the next train to Jadenvale Town Proper. No one looked twice at Ava as she wandered through the town. No one looked twice at Archer, either. Without a big fuss being made, royals apparently blended effortlessly into crowds.

 

They had to wait a night for the train, and Archer booked them all rooms at The End’s tiny inn, but they ended up in the same room anyway, but Ava ended up in his room anyway. Archer could tell she was nervous and trying not to show it, but she’d never been so far away from home and Archer knew that feeling. So he stayed up all night with her and told her about Jadenvale, and for that reason Ava slept on the train as it lumbered down the mountain, as the vegetation began to grow thicker and thicker outside the window.

 

Archer watched his journey in the reverse direction and tried not to speculate as to what Alex would say when he showed up. How disappointed would she be in him? Would Bennet have managed to send a messenger to her with the news of his disobedience? Did Bennet even care?

 

“They’re going to be happy to see you,” Trix said, reading his mind unerringly.

 

“Don’t tell them about the King,” Archer said, making the decision abruptly.

 

“I beg your pardon, sir?” said Trix, and then winced. “I mean, what, sir?”

 

Archer chuckled. “I don’t want them to…Don’t tell them about me and the King.”

 

Trix watched him closely. “You should tell them, you know. I’m not sure they’d care.”

 

“And I’m not sure it’s important any longer,” Archer replied.

 

When they reached Jadenvale, when they stepped out onto the train platform, Archer was surprised by how very happy he was to see it. He’d stripped out of his furs and was back in a Jadenvalian suit and the breeze drifted lovingly up off the sea and the ocean licked at the beach below and people wandered through the seaside town, laughing and enjoying themselves, and Archer took a breath of heavy Jadenvalian air, crowded with jasmine…

 

…and missed Bennet desperately, damn it.

 

Ava next to him had also stripped out of her furs. She was dressed in a simple pair of pants and a shirt that were nonetheless still far too heavy for the weather. But she stood at the edge of the platform and shaded her eyes against the sun and looked down toward the bay and said breathlessly, “Oh, _Archer_. It’s _gorgeous_.”

 

Archer felt suddenly proud of the town. “Do you like it?”

 

She turned to him in amazement. “How did you ever leave?”

 

“Euphonia has its own beauty,” Archer said.

 

“Now I know you’re in love with Bennet,” said Ava, “if you think Euphonia has anything on _this_.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Three

 

Archer, Only Prince of Jadenvale, returned to the palace as unobtrusively as he’d left it. In fact, he walked right in, leaving shocked silent attendants in his wake. He walked up the main staircase with Trix and with Ava and down the main terrace and directly to the back verandah, where, as he’d expected, Alice was sprawled in the sun by the swimming pool.

 

She heard their step and opened her eyes and lifted her head and then said in shock, “Archer!” And then she leaped up and ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, _Archer_! What are you doing here? We’ve missed you _so_ much! I thought for sure you wouldn’t be back for ages!”

 

Archer, surprised by the exuberant greeting, didn’t really know what to do. He said, very eloquently, “Um.”

 

“Are you Ava?” Alice said, turning her attention to Ava. “Are you why he’s back so soon? Because if so, you’re my new favorite.”

 

Ava was taking in Alice’s bathing suit. Ava said, “And this is how people dress here? Archer, this place is fantastic and I’m never leaving it, ever.”

 

Alice blushed and looked back at Archer uncertainly.

 

“She’s Euphonian,” Archer said, by way of what he hoped was clarification. “Is Alex around? We need to speak with her.”

 

“She’s working, of course. But she’ll be so delighted to see you! Ava, we’re really so happy to meet you. Hello, Trix!” Alice called by way of afterthought to Trix, hovering in the background.

 

“Your Highness,” Trix called back.

 

Archer said to her, “You get to be off-duty for a little while. I’ve got this.”

 

“Welcome home,” Trix replied, and smiled at him.

 

“Tell me all about Euphonia, Arch,” Alice said, practically dancing next to him as they walked along the terrace to the main receiving room. “Is it true that it’s colder than the deep ocean?”

 

Archer shuddered in memory. “ _Yes_.”

 

“And this place is hotter than the fires we burn,” said Ava.

 

“They have to burn fires,” Archer told Alice. “Not to cook. For _warmth._ They are constantly tending fires. It takes a lot of effort.”

 

“Fascinating!” proclaimed Alice.

 

“It’s why we tend to rely on body warmth,” Ava purred. “We’re big on body warmth.”

 

Alice, wide-eyed, looked from Ava to Archer.

 

“Trust me,” Ava said, “as much as I’m making a stir right now, Archer managed to make _more_ of a stir.”

 

“Of course he did,” Alice said proudly, and hugged Archer’s arm. “He’s Archer. He can’t help but stand out everywhere he goes.”

 

Archer gave Alice a confused look but didn’t have time to clarify her odd comment before they reached the main receiving room, where Alex looked up from the middle of a table of advisors and said, surprised, “Archer. You’re home.”

 

“Yes,” said Archer. “I don’t mean to interrupt but—”

 

“Yes, he means to interrupt,” Alice said. “Look, he’s brought his bride!” She pulled Ava forward.

 

All of Alex’s advisors stared at Ava. Ava, after a second, executed a very Euphonian low bow.

 

“We don’t do that here,” Archer whispered to her, tugging her gently up.

 

Alex stood and came over to them and said, “Princess Ava. It’s so very lovely to meet you at last. I trust Archer met with your approval?”

 

“Archer’s lovely. To quote my brother, ‘He’s a delight.’”

 

Alex looked at Archer with an expression Archer could only interpret as _fond_. “Of course he is. I’m glad King David agrees with our assessment and recognizes the treasure in our midst. We’re pleased you’ve come for a visit. How long will you stay?”

 

“Could we talk to you about that for a second?” said Archer.

 

Alex glanced between them, looked thoughtful, and then led them back out onto the terrace.

 

Where Archer immediately said, “Ava and I aren’t married.”

 

“And we aren’t getting married,” said Ava.

 

“Oh.” Alex sounded confused. “And King David is okay with this?”

 

“He doesn’t know what he is,” said Ava. “He’s a bit addle-minded.”

 

Alex blinked at her. “He’s…Is he?”

 

“He’s encountered a pair of fine, dark eyes,” said Ava. “They’ve muddled with his head. He’s making terrible decisions.”

 

Archer cleared his throat and said, “Ava wants to stay in Jadenvale.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “I need to get this straight. Have you…run away?”

 

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Ava said.

 

“What’s another way of looking at it?” said Alex, frowning.

 

“I’m pregnant and need a place to stay and Archer was kind enough to offer Jadenvalian hospitality.”

 

Alex’s eyes widened in shock.

 

Alice said, “Archer! Already? A little niece or nephew? How exciting!”

 

Archer winced as Alice threw her arms around Ava.

 

“The baby isn’t Archer’s,” Ava admitted. “But I’d be happy for you to think of him or her as a niece or a nephew.”

 

“The baby isn’t Archer’s?” echoed Alex, her frown deepening.

 

“Ava was pregnant,” Archer said. “That’s why I was needed in Euphonia so very promptly.”

 

Alex’s green eyes were very narrow indeed. “He was going to trick you into thinking you’d produced a child not your own? He was going to _con_ us?”

 

“I don’t think he saw it as a con,” Archer said.

 

“He was worried for me,” Ava said. “He panicked. But it was all so silly. He’s worried about…things he doesn’t need to be worried about.”

 

“How dare he call and demand fulfillment of a promise on _false pretenses_?” thundered Alex. “I’ve a mind to declare war for this!”

 

“Please don’t,” Archer said.

 

“We’re harboring his fugitive sister,” remarked Alice. “He could probably declare war on us.”

 

“Nobody’s declaring war on anyone,” said Archer.

 

“Everyone needs to stop acting like such a _monarch_ ,” said Ava.

 

“Ava left a note for Bennet—King David—telling him where we are. He hasn’t pursued us. He doesn’t consider us to be fugitives. This is a desirable solution.”

 

“Why don’t you just get married?” Alex said. “If you’re willing to help the Princess with the child—”

 

“No,” Archer said staunchly. “I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.”

 

“Neither am I,” said Ava. “We’re both waiting to be loved desperately.”

 

Alex and Alice stared at them.

 

“By who?” Alice asked finally.

 

“I don’t know,” Archer said. “Whoever wants to. But we’re taking a stand. We’re not being pawns. We’re going to live our lives, and we’re going to be happy. I thought I would do the courtesy of coming here first, of telling you first, but if this can’t be home, we’ll go somewhere else—”

 

“Archer,” Alex cut him off, her Queen Alexandra voice.

 

Archer swallowed his words automatically, and then hated himself for that instinct.

 

But what Alex said was, “Of course this is home. It’s always been your home. Archer, didn’t you know? What did I ever say or do to make you think you wouldn’t be welcome here, no matter what?”

 

“Right,” said Archer, and managed a smile. “I’m the Only Prince of Jadenvale.”

 

“No,” said Alex. “You’re Archer.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Four

 

Bennet went to The Lake.

 

It was high in the mountains, higher even than the Main Palace. It was inside the clouds, such that you couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of you. For that reason, no one had ever been quite sure how big The Lake was. His mother had been fascinated by The Lake. His mother had wanted to map The Lake. That had been her great ambition. And, in the end, The Lake had taken her, swallowed his parents whole. They had gone on a journey to The Lake, and they had never returned.

 

Bennet didn’t go to The Lake immediately. At first Bennet got himself rip-roaring drunk. Then Bennet took to his bed and decided not to leave it again, ever. Then an attendant brought him Ava’s letter and he read it until he had it memorized.

 

_Bennet – Mom and Dad would weep if they saw you throwing away happiness with both hands. Your happiness and I are going to Jadenvale. Come and get us. All my love, Ava_

 

Then he threw it in the fire.

 

And then he went to The Lake.

 

He went in the dark of night, and it would cause chaos, he knew, the discovery that he was missing, that no one knew where, and he didn’t care. For the first time since he had been twelve years old and his parents had failed to come home, Bennet _didn’t fucking care_ about all of the responsibilities. Bennet thought of Archer dancing with him at the pub, eyes bright and smile wide, looking at him as if he were nothing more than a farm boy partner and wanting that look for the rest of his life, and Bennet went to The Lake.

 

He stood on the edge, watching his breath crystallize in front of him, watching impassively as the water lapped at his boots. No one knew why the water wasn’t frozen. Archer would probably have enjoyed the mystery of it all.

 

Bennet peered into the fog ahead of him and was seized by the sudden superstition that someone could be standing only a few feet away from him and he would never know. “Hello?” he called, just to make sure. As if that person would answer. And then, feeling almost hysterical, “Mom? Dad?”

 

No reply. _Of course_ no reply.

 

Bennet stood at the edge of The Lake and Bennet set his teeth and Bennet shouted into the fog all around him, “It’s a good thing you’re not there, because if you were there I would tell you that _I hate you_!” Silence followed his words, closing in all around him. Bennet took another deep breath. “I hate you because you left! You came here! You were selfish and irresponsible and you left _children_ behind! I hate you because I was _twelve_ , and there was suddenly an entire kingdom on my shoulders, and a sister I couldn’t raise, and for years there was no one who even called me by my _name_! So fuck you, and your stupid adventures, and your exploring, and the fact that you never thought about anyone but yourselves, and that made me have to think for everyone, always, and it made Ava hate me, and it made Archer hate me, and it made _me_ hate me, and that was your fault, and I don’t know how I’m expected to _be_ everything and _do_ everything and no thanks to you for leaving me with not _a single word of guidance_!” His words bounced off the peaks around him, echoed eerily around him, and left him…exhausted.

 

Bennet sank to the frigid sand, disturbing the crust of ice on top of it, and put his head in his hands. His horse came over and nudged at his shoulder, as if worried they were going to stay here.

 

Bennet laughed a little and caught his bridle and kissed his nose and said, “They had this stupid lake, Prospero. They came out here and they had this lake because it made them happy and they didn’t care that it was dangerous and they had responsibilities and it ended up destroying everything. Of all things, they let themselves have _this stupid fucking lake_.”

 

Prospero snorted and looked generally unimpressed.

 

Bennet sighed and stood up and swung himself stiffly into the saddle and looked out over the cloud-shrouded lake, where his parents had disappeared one day. And if his parents could do something as stupidly irresponsible as this lake, if his parents could…

 

It dawned on Bennet suddenly, as clear as the sky in the lower part of Euphonia, where it was unbroken blue and bright sunlight. Bennet stared at The Lake but saw something else entirely, saw the curve of Archer’s back, the smattering of freckles over his nose, the way his hair curled over his forehead.

 

If his parents could have something as stupid as The Lake, surely that meant he could have something as _perfect_ as Archer.

 

“I get Archer,” Bennet said on a whoosh of breath. “It means I get Archer.”

 

And suddenly he couldn’t get back to the main palace quickly enough.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Five

 

“Begging your pardon, Excellence,” said Massimo, low bowing, “but I thought you weren’t going to Jadenvale to retrieve them,” said Massimo.

 

“I wasn’t,” said Bennet, carefully packing Archer’s diadem, “and now I am. I changed my mind.”

 

“Does this have something to do with wherever you disappeared off to, Excellence?”

 

“I went to The Lake,” said Bennet, deliberately leaving his royal cloak where it was hanging in the wardrobe. 

 

Massimo was startled out of deference. “You went where?”

 

“I went to The Lake. I wanted to see what my parents loved more than their children. A lake, Massimo. A fucking lake. Do you know what I love?”

 

“Not entirely, Excellence,” said Massimo uncertainly.

 

Bennet slung the bag over his shoulder. He was traveling light. He wanted to make it to Jadenvale as soon as possible. He looked over at Massimo and said, “I love Archer.”

 

Massimo boggled at him, and then remembered to bow low. “Begging your pardon, Excellence, but…the Only Prince of Jadenvale?”

 

“Archer,” Bennet said. “I love Archer. And he loves me. And I am being an _idiot_. I am going to Jadenvale to tell him— _again_ —that he was right and I was wrong. Then, when I get back, we’ll have a royal wedding, maybe, if he consents.”

 

“A wedding? Whose wedding?” Massimo was openly gaping at him.

 

“Mine,” Bennet’s said. “Mine and Archer’s.”

 

“But—Forgive me—Begging your pardon—Excellence—the succession—”

 

“The succession will be fine,” Bennet said casually on his way out of the room. “Ava’s having a baby.”

 

“ _What_?” croaked Massimo.

 

Bennet paused and looked back at Massimo. “By the way. When I said that I love Archer and that Archer loves me, your reaction should have been, ‘How wonderful, Excellence. How lucky to have found the love of your life and have him feel the same way. Best wishes for a long and happy future together. I hope he forgives you for being so tremendously stupid all the time.’”

 

“I…What?” Massimo looked genuinely confused.

 

“Begging your pardon, Massimo,” said Bennet, “but you’re fired.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

Jadenvale was…very like Archer, in that it was gorgeous beyond belief. Bennet looked at the expanse of white-sand beach and deep blue water and wondered that Archer would ever leave it behind, to come to a land where Archer shivered endlessly and fidgeted in his furs and fought off night coughs and the only advantage Bennet had to offer was that he would keep Archer warm in their bed.

 

Fuck, what the fuck sort of proposal was _that_?

 

Bennet, with not a single attendant, not a single member of an entourage, turned away from the view of Jadenvale and began trekking up toward the glittering palace. He didn’t have a clear idea of what he ought to do, other than _Get to Archer_. Frequently his plans of late had consisted entirely of _Get to Archer_.

 

And so that was what he said to the attendant who met him at the gate. “Is the Prince at home?”

 

The attendant lifted an eyebrow at him, and Bennet knew he looked ridiculous, in his heavy Euphonian clothes and shaggy Euphonian hairstyle, bedraggled and travel-weary. He probably looked as likely to rob the Prince as to do anything more respectable.

 

“Look,” said Bennet, “I know this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous but if you could ask the Prince if he could see Bennet? I’d appreciate it. Please.”

 

The attendant looked dubious but turned to the attendant behind him, who turned to the attendant behind him, and Bennet hoped that eventually one of them was deciding to bring his message to the Prince.

 

And apparently that was what happened, because eventually one of the attendants said, “This way.”

 

Bennet thought he should have felt relieved but instead he felt terrified. _Fuck_ , he thought, _Archer wants to see you. Don’t fucking disappoint him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Who thought this was a good idea? Wait. I guess you did. Why did you think this was a good idea?_

 

And Bennet was so worried about trying to compose in his head what he was going to say that he was completely floored to be led into a room with a woman in it.

 

“Hi,” he said uncertainly.

 

The woman, copper hair piled on top of her head, lifted an eyebrow at him and surveyed him head to toe. And then she said, “Curious, that the King of Euphonia should arrive here with no warning, no attendants, and no comb.”

 

Self-conscious, Bennet tried to smooth his hair down and then said, “Um. Queen Alexandra?”

 

She smiled. “Excellent guess.”

 

Bennet low-bowed at her, because that was just simple politeness, and anyway it gave him a moment to try to swallow his disappointment. When he straightened, he said, “Archer doesn’t want to see me?” He was aiming for _casual_ ; he ended up with something like _devastated_.

 

“He doesn’t know you’re here. Understand that when people of dubious quality arrive at the palace asking for private audiences with the Prince, generally that is termed a security risk that is brought to my attention. But I’d heard the name ‘Bennet’ before, just once, out of Archer. It was what he called you. He caught himself, and I have never heard him refer to you as anything other than the King since, but it stayed with me, because I’d never heard that name used in connection with you before.”

 

“It’s my name,” Bennet said.

 

“I gathered. A private name, isn’t it? Well-guarded. So than I had to ask myself not just why Archer would know it but why he would be clearly in the habit of thinking of you by your private name. I reached an interesting conclusion.”

 

Bennet regarded her for a moment. Then he said, “I’d like to speak with Archer.”

 

“That is up to Archer.”

 

“Right,” Bennet said. “Of course.” He bowed his head briefly to show his respect for Archer’s decision.

 

The Queen moved toward him, stood beside him. She was taller than him, so she looked down her nose at him quite effectively. She said, “I let you have him once before, and he came back to me nursing a broken heart he thinks he’s hiding. If it happens again…”

 

“You ought to start a war,” Bennet said solemnly. “Archer would hate it, but it’s what you should do.”

 

The Queen tipped one corner of her mouth up in a small smile. “King David of Euphonia. Why would you ever arrive on my doorstep dressed like that and calling yourself ‘Bennet’?”

 

“Because he doesn’t want King David of Euphonia,” Bennet replied.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

“No,” said Archer, watching as Ava flailed around in the swimming pool. “That is definitely not right.”

 

Ava grabbed for the side of the pool and glared at Archer from beneath her sodden black hair. “Do you think you could _help_ me then? I don’t want Alice to think I’m a total _idiot_.”

 

“You’re not thinking through the seduction opportunities if Alice has to save you from drowning,” Archer smiled.

 

“You seduce one King successfully and you think you’re an expert seducer,” grumbled Ava, and splashed Archer.

 

“Archer?” Alex called from the other side of the verandah.

 

“Behave,” Archer hissed at Ava.

 

Ava stuck her tongue out at him.

 

“What is it?” Archer called back to Alex.

 

Alex had now walked onto the verandah and was studying Ava’s efforts in the swimming pool, looking dubious. “There’s a man called Bennet here to see you,” she said.

 

As if that wasn’t the most important sentence anyone had ever said.

 

In the swimming pool, Ava slipped under the water and flailed back up, sputtering.

 

Archer said faintly, “Bennet?”

 

“He looks as if he’s traveled several very hard days to get to you. It is, of course, your decision, but if I were you I’d be inclined to hear him out.”

 

 _Yes_ , Archer was inclined to hear him out. Archer was inclined to topple him over and sprawl on top of him and fucking eat him _alive_.

 

But Archer stood frozen by the swimming pool, unable to move.

 

“Archer?” Ava said.

 

“Bennet’s here?” Archer asked Alex, suddenly terrified he was hallucinating all of this.

 

“He’s here,” Alex confirmed, and took a few more steps toward Archer. “Archer, I feel compelled to ask you, because I failed to before: What do you want, my dear little Prince?”

 

“I want him,” Archer said, automatically, because there was no other possible answer to that question.

 

“I suspected.” Alex slipped her hand into Archer’s hair and whispered at him, “Have him, Archer. If you like his terms, have him.” She leaned over to kiss the top of his head. “Be happy, Arch.”

 

Archer squeezed his eyes shut, trying to center himself, nodded, and then gave up and hugged Alex fiercely, in a way he’d stopped hugging her years ago.

 

She hugged him back, the way she’d stopped hugging him years ago. “I’m sorry,” she said into his ear. “For every way in which I failed you. You’ve always been so precious to me that I’ve never known what to do for you. It’s no excuse. But I’m sorry.”

 

Archer lifted his head up and looked at her, the sister who’d had to be his Queen and his mother all at once, and these extraordinary monarchs, with so much to handle… “Find someone who makes you feel not like you,” Archer said to her.

 

Alex blinked, looking quizzical.

 

Then Archer kissed her cheek and took off for Bennet at a mad dash. He’d never run so fast in his life. He flew down the terrace and tumbled through the doors to the main receiving room and Bennet looked up at him and Archer registered that he looked horrible and irresistible all at once.

 

Archer drew to a stop, gasping for breath, and just stared at him.

 

“Archer,” Bennet started.

 

“Are you going to say you’re sorry?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Are you going to say you were wrong?”

 

“That. And that I love you. I was going to say that I love you.”

 

“Better,” Archer managed to say, before flinging himself onto Bennet. “Even better.”

 

Bennet took his weight, staggering backward only a little.

 

Archer locked his legs around Bennet’s waist and said, “Alex says I should let myself have you if I like your terms. What are your terms?”

 

“I will make you smile in the morning and laugh in the evening. We’ll roam over Euphonia, and we’ll race each other over the glacier, and we’ll listen to our people’s complaints and queries and questions, and we’ll keep our kingdom safe and secure.”

 

“Our people?” Archer said. “Our kingdom?”

 

“Of course,” Bennet said. He was walking them slowly backward as he spoke. “One of my terms. You should marry me. We’ll rule together. I will never start a war over you. We’ll start all of our wars together.”

 

“How romantic,” Archer said, as Bennet finally hit a chair and sank into it. Archer settledon his lap. “What a very romantic proposal.”

 

“We’ll have a lot of very filthy sex.”

 

Archer grinned. “Now that sounds more like it.”

 

“And ‘Archer,’ I will call you, always, at every moment. ‘Archer, I love you,’ is what I will say.”

 

“And I’ll say it back. ‘Bennet, I love you,’ I’ll say. ‘I love you desperately.’”

 

“I don’t want an hour, Archer. I never wanted an hour. I want the rest of your life. Can I have the rest of your life, if I give you the rest of mine?”

 

“Yes,” Archer said, framing his face with his hands. “You only ever had to ask.”

 

Bennet gave him a crooked smile and kissed the tip of Archer’s nose. Then he leaned back in his chair and said, “Now, let’s discuss your dowry.”

 

Archer laughed, and thought that he wouldn’t have thought it possible that you could feel this happy and _survive_. He snuggled against Bennet and his scratchy Euphonian shirt. “Fuck you. My dowry will be me not kicking your ass every time you’re an idiot.”

 

“Ah, the benevolence. The people of Euphonia will praise your benevolence from the mountains’ tops to the edge of the Graveyard.”

 

“It’s my famous Jadenvalian hospitality.”

 

“We are so _very_ lucky to have you,” said Bennet good-naturedly.

 

“Bennet,” Archer said seriously, and shifted to face him. “I want you to know. I love all of you. I love the you and the not-you. You’re the King. I get that. I’m not asking the impossible of you. I’m asking you, when it’s you and me, to be Bennet, that’s all. To be the not-you part of you. I want all of you. But I want the this-you in our bed. I want the this-you when I crawl into your arms. I want the this-you to reach for me and pull me in.”

 

“Good,” said Bennet. “That’s the this-me I want in our bed, too. I’m open-minded, but I’d hate to think of you cheating on the this-me with the other-me.”

 

“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t bring your royal cloak to bed,” said Archer. “I have ideas about that royal cloak.”

 

“I can’t wait,” said Bennet.

 

“You won’t have to,” Archer said. “This is where we start. It’s where all the best journeys start.”

 

“The End?” said Bennet.

 

“Such a stupid name,” said Archer. “Such a _pointless_ name. It’s The Beginning.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
